


Lifetime in Repeat

by MeltingAutumn



Category: Antisepticeye - Fandom, Darkiplier - Fandom, Youtube RPF, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Anti and Dark - Freeform, Blood, Drama, Everything Hurts, Fluff, Gen, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationships, Septishu, Slow Burn, also jack is having a Bad Day(TM), gimme that friendship, it's got a mix of everything really, tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2018-12-20 00:19:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 39,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11909277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeltingAutumn/pseuds/MeltingAutumn
Summary: Jack is living the same crappy day over and over again.





	1. Day 1

Jack wakes up to a soft brush of lips against his cheek.

“Hey Sean.” Signe whispers softly into his ear, leaning over him. “I’m leaving for the event. I’ll see you later tonight, babe.”

He replies with a soft hum, burrowing further into the warmth of his blanket, wishing to return back to his dream. He hears her softly giggle and run her fingers through his scraggly green hair before she turns heel and steps out of the room, shutting the door with a click. Her scent lingers in the room, faintly wafting past his nose and dissipating with each passing minute. Jack feels completely and utterly content here, attempting to escape back into his dream.

After a few minutes, Jack realizes that he’s not going to fall back asleep. He finally forces his eyes to open and checks the time, _9:42 AM, so I’ve only slept for about four hours,_ and then sits up in bed, flicking on the bedside lamp. He feels tired, rightfully so, and finally decides to swing his legs over the side of the bed and rise from his blanket cocoon.

_I guess if I go ahead and record this morning I can have the rest of the day to do other things._ He thinks, dragging his feet to the kitchen to make coffee while ignoring the growing headache. _I think the guys wanted to play some games later anyway._

It takes him a second to notice when the mug slips from his hand and shatters on the floor, spilling hot coffee all over him. Now wide awake, he lets out a startled cry, backpedaling away from the counter and swiping the hot liquid off his bare skin with a string of curses slipping from his lips. “Are you _serious_?!” He yells angrily, grabbing the kitchen towel and relieving the stinging feeling from his legs. He looks pathetically at the pieces of glass on the ground, and grumbles to himself, feeling personally insulted by the mess.

His mood is sour by the time he makes another cup, and he drags himself back to his room to get dressed for recording. He tweets about the coffee, just out of frustration, but it doesn’t take him long to get over it. By the time he manages to get to his computer, he’s already trying to perk up for the video.

Before he gets started, he notices Robin trying to skype call him. The steady ring stirs him into confusion. _This early?_

He hits accept. 

“Hey dude.”

“Hey yourself.” Robin responds, his hair in a mess. “Noticed you were awake as well. Recording early today are we?”

“Couldn’t really sleep.” Jack responds, leaning his head against his hand. “But it’s no biggie. I have a lot to do anyway.”

“Fair enough.” He looks down at his phone before glancing back up. “I actually needed to talk to you. Ahh, something came up today, and um, I won’t be able to edit your videos. For a few days at least.”

This takes Jack by surprise. “Everything alright?”

Robin seems hesitant to answer. “Well, there was a distant family member who was in a pretty serious car accident last night, and my family wants me down there. It’s a couple hours drive.”

“Oh man, sorry to hear that.”

“Mm, these things happen. I’m just glad it wasn’t someone I was close to.” He presses his lips into a thin line. “I’m really sorry that I had to spring this on you so suddenly.”

Jack’s head begins to throb a bit, but he massages his temple and gives his friend a reassuring smile. “Hey, it’s no worry. I have time. You go be with your family.”

Relief seems to wash over Robin’s shoulders. “Thanks man. Good luck getting stuff done. Don’t spill anymore coffee on yourself.”

He responds with a fake laugh, drawing a chuckle out of Robin. “Alright, see you later.”

“Later.”

He hangs up and Jack’s face falls a bit. Well… that’s one way to start the day. He stretches out his arms and prepares himself to record, feeling stiff and clammy.

Recording that morning had been a nightmare- filled with technical difficulties, constant interruptions, and a severe lack of focus. By the time he had spent an hour just trying to get through _one simple section_ , he was angry. He takes a second to compose himself, burying his face in his hands, and lets out a shaky exhale. _Pull yourself together, it’s just a video game._ He thinks to himself, trying to wash away the angry lump in his throat.

Eventually, he decides to give up on that game and try it another day. He pulls up another game, one that’s definitely much more chill, and begs himself to relax.

It doesn’t last long though, because as he pulls up the game, he notices his save file is gone. All the progress in the past few days had resulted in nothing, and he would now have to start back from the beginning.

He lets out a curse and bangs his fist against the desk, laying his forehead down with his hair falling over the keyboard. He’d have to replay the whole beginning and catch up before he could record anything. And he didn’t have time for that if he was going to edit his videos today too.

“Okay.” He speaks out loud because he needs to hear it. With Signe gone for the day, there wasn’t really anything else that could cheer him up. “Okay, I needed to go to the store today because there’s absolutely no food in the fridge, so I might as well go now. The walk will be nice. I can get away for a bit. I’ll still have time to edit everything.” He says to himself, retreating from his computer to go grab his coat.

The air is really cold today. That’s an Irish winter for ya. He bundles up in his scarf and hides his nose, following the sidewalk out into the town. Already he feels his nerves start to settle a little, and he takes deep breaths, trying not to be noticed. He wasn’t really in the mood for interactions right now, and that says a lot considering his normal attitude.

But as it is, someone recognizes him. “Jacksepticeye?!” They call out, racing to him. He works up as much energy as he possibly can to look approachable.

“Hello!” He greets, stopping in his place.

The fan is freaking out a little, which always makes him smile, and he accepts a picture with her. Eventually, he bids her farewell, smiling as she waves after him until he turns a corner. He expected the encounter to drain him, but it actually helps a little. He’s walking down the square with a little more of a skip in his step.

Not long after, he’s exiting the store with grocery bags in his hands. The little sense of accomplishment makes him feel a lot better. He’s walking with his head a little higher, feeling much more refreshed to face the day.

When he walks into the front door of his home, he struggles a bit with holding the groceries, flicking the light on in the main room. This is not the problem. The problem comes when he hears a sudden familiar voice not far behind him gasp and cry out: “so this is where you live!”

He’s so startled that he drops two of his grocery bags. He could hear the eggs crack in the carton, and it physically pains him to hear. In the fall, he scrambles to catch one of the bags, resulting in his hand banging against the edge of the door and slicing his hand open. Pulling it back towards himself, he cradles it in his arm, not really having the freedom to move his arms about under all the groceries. He only has a small shred of chill left, and it dissipates as soon as he turns around and sees the young fan he had just met bouncing on her feet and approaching.

“Do you need any help with those?” She asks, still grinning ear to ear. Jack doesn’t really have words at this point, he’s just starting with his lips pressed together, his hands gripping the grocery bag handles. “I had no idea I’d run into you today! Man, what a small world right?” She asks, approaching and picking up the bag with the cracked eggs. It pools a bit, spilling on the doorstep as she picks it up. “Oh. I think your eggs cracked.”

He grits his teeth together. “Yeah, I need you to not be here.”

She looks up at him, a quizzical look on her face.

“This is my private house. I tell my fans all the time that this is the one place I don’t let people go to. I need you to be respectful of that.” He’s using every shred of power he has not to get aggressive. His head is pounding, trying to shatter his skull.

“Oh, I just thought you’d need some help with your groceries! Maybe if I had had a chance to catch up before you got here I could have done more before your eggs cracked-“

“Are… are you listening to me?”

She doesn’t look like she is. “Here, I can clean this mess up for you Jack! Where are your paper towels?”

She tries to walk into his house, but he lifts his leg up, blocking her entrance into his sanctuary. “No,” He says, feeling his temper start to fire up. “I asked you nicely. I need you to go home.”

He feels bad, as this was someone who watches him and loves enjoying his content, but this was ridiculous. It finally starts to get through her head when she looks back up at him. “But- I’m just trying to help.”

“You are not allowed in my house. No one is.” He’s trying _so, so hard._ “Go home.”

Suddenly her face hardens, and she furrows her eyebrows. “You’re supposed to be the nicest gamer on youtube. I didn’t realize that was just a face you put on. Fine. I’m leaving.” She spins on her heel and stomps away.

That stung a little. Jack stares after her, the lump in his throat returning, and he doesn’t move for a solid minute. Yes, she was being ridiculous, but that was harsh, and one of the easiest ways to get to him. Sheesh, what a morning. He finally retreats back into his house, putting his groceries on the table and heaving a deep sigh.

It takes him a little time to bandage his bleeding hand. It cut pretty deep. But eventually he gets it under control and tries to ignore the sting. It only prompts irritation that tickles his tight chest. He adds it on to the list of everything going wrong today.

He goes to sit back down at his computer, knowing he would need to get started now if he wanted any free time today. He plugs in a game that was both chill and still had his save file in tact, attempting to fall into the rhythm of it. Somehow, even this game was starting to get on his nerves.

But eventually he had done enough for a video. He leans back in his chair, letting out a breath. Finally. _I’ll start editing this one and then at least record the second one before the others call. And then I can just kick back with them._

He loads up his editing software for the first time in forever, and attempts to import the footage.

It was corrupted.

The game file he had just recorded came out with a corruption. Which meant it was useless. Pointless. He just recorded an hour and a half for no reason. It was gone. Lost in the wind.

Jack feels frustration claw up his throat, but he forces it down, attempting to remain calm. All the energy he could summon for the day went into that video. And now he’d have to record another one. Jack groans out loud, gripping his controller and pressing it against the bridge of his nose. Fine. Fine, this day wanted to be like that. Fine.

He pulls the game back up and grudges into another session of recording it.

He goes for an hour, _finally_ getting usable footage for tomorrow’s video, and drops it into the editing software just as he notices Skype notifications. _Already?_ He asks himself, feeling his heart drop. It’s going to be such a late night, and he’s not going to get anything done. He pulls up the messages.

[7:13 PM] Mark: Y’all ready to record?

[7:14 PM] Bob: Please never type that abomination of a word ever again.

[7:14 PM] Mark: Y’all’ve no fun

[7:14 PM] Bob: I assure you I can have plenty of fun without that word.

[7:15 PM] Mark: Y’all’d’ve fun if you did this too

[7:15 PM] Bob: Please stop.

That manages to make Jack chuckle. But then he notices that they’re already in a call and probably waiting on him. But he has so much to do today. He groans, finally deciding that yep, this was going to be one of tomorrow’s videos, and enters the call.

“Ayye there’s Jackaboy.” Mark responds instantly, followed by a whoop from Wade.

“Up for some PUBG?” Wade asks, and their attitudes immediately begin to lift Jack’s spirits, even if just a little bit.

“Sure man.” He responds simply, opening his recording programs. “Just give me a minute to catch up.”

He falls into silence while he boots things up, just relishing in the joy his friends are emitting. _I’m so lucky to have them,_ he thinks to himself, struggling to start the software that simply refuses to work today. He _needs_ this game to record or else he’s gonna be one less video tomorrow. And he refuses to let that happen.

When his program crashes for the third time, he releases a loud, sudden curse that startles everyone else in the chat.

“Whoah Jack.” Bob responds, laughing.

“Sorry.” He seethes a bit. “Program keeps crashing.”

“Oh I didn’t know you were going to record right off the bat.” 

He lets out a lame laugh. “Dude, I’ve got practically nothing done today. This is one of tomorrow’s videos." 

“It’s this far in the day and you don’t have a single thing done? Who are you and what have you done with Jack?” Mark cuts in, chuckling. Jack furrows his brow, wondering if he should tell the others about his horrid morning.

No, he doesn’t want to be a complainer. He’ll be fine. “It’s just been a day. I’ll let you know when I get this up and running.”

It takes a little longer before his computer starts cooperating. It wouldn’t work until he exited the call and rebooted his computer, but finally, things seemed to line up well for the game. He’s especially quiet, letting the others fall into easy conversation until they eventually enter the game.

_Finally._

One of Jack’s favorite things about video games is that it is an easy place to escape. While in the game, he’s someone else. He’s facing terrors over lands far away, separated from his terrible morning. His nerves can unravel here and now, and he can take it out on the world around him. PlayerUnknown’s BattleGrounds was a great release because it had a weight to everything he did, and all he had to do was focus. _Focus._

They’re dropping down on the playing field. Jack immediately scrambles forward for a weapon, throwing open the first door he finds.

Another player had beat him to the pile of supplies on the ground. They had entered in from the door opposite of the room. It takes them only three seconds to equip the gun on the ground and aim it up at Jack, shooting him point blank in the face. Jack’s character crumbles backwards, and it doesn’t take long for the opponent to finish him up.

And that was it.

For the rest of the round, he’d have to sit back and watch his friends play the game. He couldn’t upload this video. It was useless now.

“Whoop, Jack, you already died? That sucks.” Wade says.

There’s a beat of silence.

Jack lets out an angry screech without the slightest bit of warning. And suddenly he’s cursing everything and anything under the sun. He can hear his friends laughing at his misery, thinking he’s just joking, but suddenly he’s only seeing red. He directs his anger at them, yelling and cursing until his face goes purple. He’s pretty sure his head is about to explode. His hand curls into a fist and he bangs it once against the table in an angry gesture, still shouting, until he realizes that was his injured hand. He curses again, cradling it in his other hand, and then throws his earphones off his head and stands up, walking away from the computer to the other side of the room. 

The gesture pulls the cord out of his computer, and suddenly the audio of his friends and the game’s gunfire fills the room, only causing his heart to tense more. It takes a few seconds after his little tantrum for his friends to react.

“Whoah, Jack, dude, chill…” Bob replies, legitimately startled. “It’s okay. Relax. Just a game.”

Jack doesn’t respond. He’s too far away from the microphone now anyway. He presses his back against the wall and sinks to the floor, running his hand through his hair. _Deep breath. Deep breath…_ His lip is trembling and he’s pretty sure he’s about to start crying. _Come on, don’t be such a baby._

“Okay, that was a little much.” Mark says, and Jack immediately feels bad. But he was right. That was uncalled for. “I think you need to just… _not_ for a while.”

Jack drags himself to his feet and walks back over to the computer, plugging his earphones back in and slipping them on over his ears. He takes another deep breath, attempting to steady his breathing, before he finally responds.

“Sorry.” He whispers in a small voice, feeling sheepish.

“Jack… you okay buddy?” Wade asks, his voice coming a little hesitantly, as if the outburst scared him.

He buries his face in his hand, his head still pounding. “I’m fine.”

“I don’t think you are.” Bob says.

“Um, yeah. Jack, maybe you should go take a nap or something.” Mark says, sounding a little tense. This is the second time he tries hinting at Jack that he should go. But he understands. He’s going to ruin these recordings if he keeps having angry outbursts, especially if he’s going to direct them at his friends.

“Yeah. Alright. Talk to you guys later.” He finally gives up, exiting the call and crossing his arms over his desk, burying his head. What is he supposed to do? He needs his videos up tomorrow. It would physically pain him if he didn’t get those done. And they need to be edited. And now he feels bad for yelling at his friends, and should probably apologize. With the energy level he has now, he doesn’t know how sincere it would be. He’d have to do it later.

He pulls up his editing software and gets to work.

It seems like nothing would go his way today, but finally, _finally,_ he manages to record a second video and edit it before it got too late. Every fiber of his being is exhausted.

It’s around midnight when Signe walks into the house, shutting the door behind her. The cold snowfall had left speckles on her black coat, and her purse swings from her shoulder as she flips the lights on.

“Hey babe, I’m home.” She calls out, wandering in. But Jack was unconscious long before she had walked into the house. She finds him collapsed on their bed, still in the day’s clothes, buried in warm blankets. He was snoring lightly. The day was over. Tomorrow would be better.

He was sure of it.


	2. Day 2

Jack wakes up to a soft brush of lips against his cheek.

“Hey Sean.” Signe whispers softly into his ear, leaning over him. “I’m leaving for the event. I’ll see you later tonight, babe.”

He stirs, content at first, but then suddenly confused. “Huh?” He mutters out loud, blinking his eyes open. “I thought the event was yesterday.”

She makes a funny face. “No, I’m pretty sure it’s today. Otherwise I would have missed it. And that would suck.” She pats his head affectionately, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Have a good day, Sean.”

His brain is too tired to argue. He flops back into the warmth of his pillow and closes his eyes. But suddenly he can’t sleep. Everything from yesterday slowly starts trickling back and he feels guilt crawl up his skin. He should apologize to his friends. 

He scrambles his hand for his phone and pulls it close to his face. When he flicks it on, the screen is too bright, and it causes him to flinch. He knows his friends would still be asleep at this hour over in the USA, but he knows he should apologize now before he forgets.

[9:42 AM] Jack: Hey guys, sorry for getting so upset yesterday. I had a bad day and shouldn’t have taken it out on you guys. Let me know if there’s any way I can make it up to you. I’m really sorry.

That should do it. But Jack knew he’d still feel guilty, even long after they forgave him. Eventually he pulls himself out of bed and drags his feet into the kitchen, opening the cupboard, trying to relax his beating chest.

The first thing that sets off an alarm in his head is the fact that the mug he broke yesterday was now sitting on the shelf, untouched, and seamlessly in tact. He has to stare at it for several long moments for it to register, and even when it does, he’s still not sure what he’s seeing. He turns on the bright kitchen light to make sure he’s looking at the right mug, and sure enough, there it is. 

He closes the cupboard.

He opens it again.

It’s still there.

He closes it again.

“Okay,” He says out loud. “I’m… not going to have coffee this morning.”

He instead careens towards his fridge, hoping to make himself a good, filling breakfast with food he got from the store the day before. He opens the fridge, feeling the chill crawl over his bare skin, but then reels when he discovers that there’s practically nothing inside.

He stares, unable to process what he was looking at.

He calls Signe.

“Hey babe, need something?” Signe asks as she picks up.

“Hey, um, I just wanted to make sure of something, we didn’t have two of the black mugs with the white swirls on it right?”

“What?”

“Do we have two of those? Or just one?”

“Pretty sure we just have one.”

“Okay well… I thought I broke that one yesterday. But it’s sitting on the shelf. And that’s not even the weirdest thing- have you been in the fridge since yesterday?”

There’s commotion in the background. Jack realizes he’s probably interrupting something. “I- I’m sorry Sean, I can’t hear you really well here. I- um… Yes, Lucy, I’ll be right there.”

“That’s fine babe, you go enjoy the event. Everything’s fine, I’m just being a baby.”

“…You sure?”

“Positive.”

She sounds hesitant. “Okay. Call me if you need anything.”

“Sure thing.”

He hangs up, still staring at the fridge. Okay, this was getting freaky. He wanders around the kitchen, chills crawling up his arms, before wandering into his computer room and booting things up. He notices that Robin is online. _That’s weird… I thought he’d be MIA from the internet for a few days._ He pulls up a chat.

[10:34 AM] Jack: Hey Robin, everything okay with your family member? 

[10:34 AM] Robin: What? How’d you hear about that?

Jack frowns, furrowing his brow.

[10:35 AM] Jack: You told me about it. You said you needed a few days off to go be with family because of an emergency with a car accident.

[10:36 AM] Robin: What? I just found that out an hour ago. I was just about to call you and tell you.

Jack is staring at the screen, thoroughly confused, until he gets a pop up call from Robin. He clicks accept, still dazed.

“Seriously, how did you know? I never told you.” Robin said, giving him a concerned and confused face.

“I…” Jack stares. “You… but…”

“I just got a call an hour ago about it. I was gonna wait until you were online to give you the heads up. Seriously. That was freaky. Tell me how you knew.”

Jack’s eyes are wide. But now he’s not looking at Robin. He’s looking at his hand. Because he’s 100% positive he cut it open on the door yesterday. And now there was nothing there. The skin was completely clean. Not even a hint of a scratch existed. He looks down at his computer screen and clicks the calendar app, his limbs going numb. _Please no…_

_January 12 th, Friday_

_But today should be Saturday._ Jack feels his breaths begin to start coming in shallow bursts. _This doesn’t make any sense._

“Jack?” 

Jack hangs up the call out of pure panic. His heart skips a beat in his chest. _Smooth._ But then he notices something else. Mark had replied to his message already. _He’s awake this early?_

[10:35] Mark: did you send this to the right chat? we didn’t even talk to you yesterday.

Jack swallows, the world spinning a bit. No. No this was wrong. Everything was wrong. He stands up from his char and wanders out of the room, going back into his bedroom.

“I’m dreaming.” He says, matter-of-factly, and escapes into the covers. “Nope. I’m dreaming. Not happening today. Goodnight.”

Of course it doesn’t work. He lays in bed, staring at the ceiling, his skin crawling. This was freaky. No. This was downright terrifying.

“Maybe I’m not dreaming now. Maybe I just dreamed up yesterday…”

But he knows that’s not possible.

Eventually, his stomach rumbles, and he knows he’s going to have to go to the store today whether he likes it or not. He finally forces himself to his feet and throws on a coat, making sure to pull his scarf up extra high to cover his face and to stuff all his green hair into his hat. Hopefully by leaving earlier he won’t run into the fangirl.

But he does.

He curses.

“Jacksepticeye?!” She calls out, running towards him. “Oh wow, hi! I never thought- Can I have a picture with you?”

“Sorry, I’m in a big rush.” He lies, trying to start walking away. Despite the girl’s stalkerish tendencies, she still seemed nice. He felt bad. “So sorry!” He calls after her, ignoring the way her face drops, and continues walking as fast as he can down the street.

_Hopefully she won’t follow me this time._ He thinks to himself, continually looking back over his shoulder to make sure she isn’t following. Just to be sure, he takes several detours to get to the store, attempting to make his walk hard to track. Eventually he ends up in the store, and lets out a sigh of relief.

On his way back, he does the same thing. He takes unexpected turns, goes down random roads, and continually peeks over his shoulder, but he doesn’t see her. He must have done it. He lets out a sigh of relief as he approaches the front door of his house.

“So this is where you live!”

He isn’t as startled this time, and manages not to drop the eggs. But it still manages to send a signal of irritation to his chest. He turns around, gritting his teeth. “Nope. This is a friend’s house. I’m bringing them groceries. You can’t be here. Go home.” He walks inside and slams the door shut before he can see her reaction.

_Okay, that was pretty rude._

_Well so was stalking me!_ He argues at himself, locking the door.

He drops the groceries off on the table and helps himself to some food, trying to ease his nerves. He really wishes Signe was home today. 

Eventually, he wanders into the gaming room to record his videos. “Okay.” He says out loud. “I should test my recording software to make sure it doesn’t corrupt my files before I start today.”

The forewarning saved him a good few hours. Once he ran some tests on it and made sure it wouldn’t react that way again, he was back in business. He was able to record his first video nearly effortlessly, and moved on to the second without much trouble. _There we go._

Soon, he had finished all his videos and the editing just before his friends were due to start playing PUBG. He finds his cue when he sees Skype notifications in the chat.

[7:13 PM] Mark: Y’all ready to record?

[7:14 PM] Bob: Please never type that abomination of a word ever again. 

[7:14 PM] Mark: Y’all’ve no fun

[7:14 PM] Bob: I assure you I can have plenty of fun without that word.

[7:15 PM] Mark: Y’all’d’ve fun if you did this too

[7:15 PM] Bob: Please stop.

He laughs a loud, weird, hysterical laugh that tells him he’s starting to lose his mind. Yep. This was happening. He jumps into the call, not bothering to boot up his recording software. There wasn’t really a need.

They all greet him kindly, falling into easy conversation. Jack tries to relax. His entire day just restarted but hey, whatever right?

He wasn't drunk enough for this.

“Hey Jack, what was that message about anyway?” Bob asks as they’re loading the game.

Jack hums, and then remembers what he’s referring to. “Oh. Um. I… put it in the wrong chat. That was meant for a couple friends of mine.”

“Did you blow up yesterday?” Mark cuts in, curious. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Just had a bad day yesterday.”

“Today any better?”

“Much.” Jack smiles. Maybe this was fate providing him an opportunity to restart. He wasn’t sure how or why, but he was glad it did. Today went much better than the day before.

They drop into the game. Jack reflexively starts towards the house in front of him before remembering what happened last time. Instead, he pivots left and runs down the street, entering a separate house entirely with Mark at his heels. This place had even better loot than the first one did, and now he had a gun in his hands.

Foresight rules.

The game lasted a long time. They were killing it, getting farther than Jack’s average run-through. And he was enjoying himself without any stress weighing him down.

“Here, park here, we’ll get out and bunker down here.” Bob says at some point down the line, and they all follow in agreement. Jack goes prone in the grass just outside the huddled buildings, watching through his scope to make sure no one was nearby.

“Jack, we’re heading towards the yellow building.”

“On it.” Jack pops to his feet, making a run for it. Before he goes very far, red splotches suddenly fill his screen as bullets spray him down. It doesn’t take long for them to kill him. He curses, leaning backwards. “I’m dead.”

They got pretty far, though. Jack feels a sense of accomplishment for that. He sits back and watches them, though it doesn’t take much longer for them to get killed off as well.

They play a few more rounds until Jack calls it a night, leaving them off in a great mood. “Goodnight guys!”

_And I still have a few more hours to kill._

He plops down on the couch in the livingroom, pulling up Netflix. Not much later, Signe walks in the door, and Jack perks up, jumping off the couch to greet her.

“Hey babe, how was the event?”

Signe smiles at the sight of him. “It was so much fun, Sean. I had a blast.”

“I’m glad!” He says, pulling her close and giving her a little peck on the lips.

“So what was that call about earlier?”

He shrugs it off. He figures tomorrow things will go back to normal and today’s weird repeat will be forgotten. “Oh, nothing. I was just tired and confused. C’mon, let’s go to bed.”

Tomorrow, everything would go back to normal.

He was sure of it.


	3. Day 3-4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the comments and kudos! Excited to keep going!

Jack wakes up to a soft brush of lips against his cheek.

“Hey Sean.” Signe whispers softly into his ear, leaning over him. “I’m leaving for the event. I’ll see you later tonight, babe.”

It doesn’t take him too long to process what she said this time. His eyes snap open and he lifts his head up, the fuzziness of sleep tickling the corners of his vision. “What?!”

His outburst startles Signe, and makes her do a little flinch backwards. She lets out a nervous laugh, drawing her hand to her shawl. “I’m… leaving for the day Sean. Is that okay?”

“I…” He swallows, sitting up in bed. “I um… yeah that’s fine.”

“You okay?”

He looks up at her, and then forces a smile, shoving down his panic. “Yep! You go enjoy the event. I’m good.”

She gives him a quizzical look, looking a little confused, before turning and stepping out of the room. “Alright. Have a good day, Sean.” She calls after him, smiling as she exits the room and shuts the door behind her with a click. 

He falls backwards in the bed, sprawling his arms out. _It repeated again._

He’s not sure if he even wants to record videos today, knowing that it would all be for nothing. No one would see them. Nothing would change. Would tomorrow also be today? And the day after? He feels a rising headache, knowing that was a constant too. A sense of terror looms over him, and his heart is pounding with adrenaline.

It paralyzes him. He lays in bed, unable to find the energy to get up. He buries his face in his pillow and breathes a few shaky breaths. “Why?” He asks the air, his voice muffled in the fabric. His skin feels clammier now, and his nose is stuffed. Is he getting sick? He wipes at his eyes, and then pulls himself out of bed to go take some medicine.

It doesn’t take too much longer before, _right on cue,_ his stomach rumbles. He seriously considers just ordering a pizza and being done with it. But he really didn’t want that for breakfast. He needed food for the rest of the day, and he’d have to go outside. 

Except, before he does, he remembers Robin will want to speak to him about his family. So Jack careens into the computer room and plops down in the chair, pulling up skype. He decides to just call him himself and get it over with.

“Hey Robin.”

“Oh Hey Jack. I was actually going to call you this morning.”

 _Yeah._ “So, how’ve things been?" 

“That’s… actually why I was going to call you. Ahh, something came up today, and um, I won’t be able to edit your videos. For a few days at least.”

Jack feigns surprise. “Everything alright?”

Robin seems hesitant to answer. “Well, there was a distant family member who was in a pretty serious car accident last night, and my family wants me down there. It’s a couple hours drive.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I can handle editing for a few days. Go be with them.”

Robin seems relieved. “Hey, thanks Jack. Sorry to spring this all on you so suddenly.”

“It’s no trouble. Have a good trip, and I’ll talk to you later." 

“Later!”

 _There_.

Jack stretches, feeling some of his panic start to dissipate. He’s not sure quite what’s going on here, but he can’t imagine it’s permanent. Maybe he’ll get something to drink later. Maybe it’ll help him forget this nightmare he’s doomed to repeat. At least nothing turned out as bad as the original day, though. Foresight has it’s advantages.

He finally works up the courage to go to the store, throwing on his coat. He would need to be extra, extra, extra careful not to-

“Jacksepticeye?!”

_I’m going to SCREAM._

He doesn’t really have time to process how she manages to keep finding him, but he keeps walking, pretending he didn’t hear her. “Jack! Jacksepticeye! Sean!” She yells, running after him. “Hey, wait!”

She pulls on his sleeve and there’s no pretending now. He turns around, acting startled that she had been calling him, and then tries putting on a smile. “Oh, hello!”

“Hi! Can- Um- I can’t believe it’s really you! Um, can I have a picture?”

He holds back a sigh of irritation and leans in to her camera view, smiling as she snaps it. She makes sure it’s saved in her phone, and while she does so, he puts a hand on her shoulder, startling her. She looks up at him with round eyes.

“What’s your name?”

“K-Kaitlyn.”

“Well Kaitlyn,” He smiles as warmly as he can possibly manage. “It was very nice to meet you. Please don’t follow me home.”

Her face drops, and her eyes widen.

“I-“

He’s gone before she can say anything else. She stands there on the sidewalk, dumbfounded, but Jack doesn’t look behind him. _Maybe that’ll spook her from following me,_ he thinks, picking up the pace to get to the store.

He leaves with fewer grocery bags this time. Just enough stuff to get him through the day. He’ll go shopping for tomorrows’ things when tomorrow comes. In the meantime, once he reaches home, he finds that Kaitlyn never showed up. _At least something worked._

The day goes… exactly the same after that. Except this time, he doesn’t record any videos. He lounges around, hoping and praying that this would be the last time. He plays games with his friends, counting on his foresight to help him past the parts he had died on previously, and then he greets Signe into the house before bed.

That night, he tries staying awake. Maybe it had something to do with that. Maybe sleeping reset the day. He lays awake with his eyes glued to the clock, watching as the minutes turn from 1 am to 2 am. Usually he doesn’t go to sleep until much later in the night, but he was feeling unusually ill, and he didn’t feel like he was running on that much sleep. 

But at some point in the night, he does fall asleep, because he wakes up.

Jack wakes up to a soft brush of lips against his cheek.

“Hey Sean.” Signe whispers softly into his ear, leaning over him. “I’m leaving for the event. I’ll see you later tonight, babe.”

His eyes snap open and he stares at her, gripping the blankets in his hands. Again. It happened _again it’s going to keep happening again and again there’s no escape._

He doesn’t say anything as Signe leaves the room and abandons him alone to his pounding chest. Hopeless. Hopeless. _Hopeless_.

Jack doesn’t normally drink. It doesn’t cause him joy, it doesn’t cause him any sort of relief, it was just kinda a thing that fuzzes his brain. People would sometimes beg for drunk let’s plays, but not being in his right mind never really appealed to him, so he usually swings away from the idea.

But today. Today he just doesn’t want to feel this terror.

He goes to the store and, right on cue, runs into the girl. This time he doesn't really bother with formalities, and keeps walking, even when it was obvious he had seen her. Any shred of pity he felt before is now gone. She wouldn't remember. Robin texts him at some point in the day, telling him that he tried skyping him, but that he’d need a few days off. Jack makes sure to confirm that’s fine with him, and then proceeds down the road, making sure Kaitlyn wasn't following.

When he gets home, he lounges on the couch and puts on Netflix to drink while being entertained. At this point, he’s just trying to get the day to pass by quickly. Maybe this is some weird dream he can’t escape. Maybe he’s doomed to repeat these 24 hours forever. But with the alcohol, it turns much less into a hopeless plea and more into a funny situation. 

At some point during a show, he falls asleep. He knows he fell asleep because he wakes up to his phone buzzing, alerting him of Skype notifications. He doesn’t even bother reading the chat, but he knows his friends are getting ready for PUBG.

He swings his legs over the side of the couch and attempts to stand, letting out a groan as the room spins a little. He takes a step sideways to catch himself, and puts a hand on the table off to the side. Ohhh this was a mistake. This was a right mistake. Drinking should not have been an option. Jack feels nauseous. Nonetheless, he grabs the bottle and takes it with him.

Hesitating in his recording room, he wonders if he can just call it off for now, and say he’s busy. Or feeling sick. Then again, playing with them always helps brighten his mood, no matter what he’s doing, so he obliges, sinking down into the chair and entering the call. Anything to help take the edge off the hopelessness he feels right now.

“There’s Jack.” Mark chimes in.

“Thas’ me.” He responds, his voice slurring. His desktop screensaver was dancing before his eyes.

“Someone sounds tired. Were you asleep?” Bob asks, chuckling at his voice.

He hiccups. “Lil’ bit. Okay. I got… I got the game… up.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Jack… are you drunk?”

“Maybe.”

 Curse his slurring voice. He giggles a little bit at the way it sounds.

“I thought you didn’t like drinking all that much. Being the reject Irish man that you are.” Wade pops in, causing a chuckle out of the others.

“Dudes… my day has been aaaaabsolute rubbish. And right now…” He has to hold in a small burp, sucking in a breath and putting his fist to his lips before continuing. “Mmm alright my game is up, you a- y’all ready?” He laughs at his use of the word.

“Uh… sure.” Bob says, laughing a little bit. It almost sounds nervous, like he wasn’t expecting this at all. “You sure you’re up for recording buddy?”

“Dandy as daisies.” He holds a thumbs up to his face cam before remembering he’s not recording this. _Yep, because it won’t matter. I got nothing done because nothing will save. Tomorrow won’t come._

“Were you recording drunk let’s plays today or something?” Mark asks, voice full of both curiosity and concern, hidden with an awkward chuckle.

“Ahh, somethin’ like that.”

The game loads. He remembers what to do. Soon he’s on auto pilot, moving and pivoting away from every dangerous encounter he had before. This was one of the only perks to having his day repeat, and it wouldn’t even matter at this point. Nothing would. _How fun._  

“How about we head East and see if those buildings have been looted? I still don’t have a backpack.” Wade cuts in.

“They’ve already been looted.” Jack says, his voice low and sloshy. “The circle will be closing in the West anyway. It’ll save us time to just head over there.”

That makes everyone pause. “You don’t know that- it could close in on the East’s side.”

“Nope.” Jack holds his mouth as his nausea builds up. “C’mon, there’ll be a backpack in the little shed off to the side of the road.”

His friends are compelled to trust him. He's not sure why, but they do. Jack is leading the team at this point. Eventually, just as Jack had said, the circle transitions to the West. Bob and Wade are going crazy now, trying to coax out his secrets.

“Okay, how did you know? What’s the tell? I thought it was completely random!” Wade asks. “Are you hacking or something?”

Jack chuckles, his screen spinning. He’s surprised he’s even walking straight in the game. “When your day keeps repeating, you get… foresight. And it’s pretty great.”

“Wait, what?” Mark asks, as if he had just tuned into the conversation.

He doesn’t grace him with a response, deciding instead to pretend like he never said anything. “Oh, and there’s a sniper to the left.” 

This was the place he had gone prone earlier before getting picked off. He wasn’t sure how long the sniper had been there before they arrived, but he was correct in assuming they were there for a while, because suddenly his character gets shot point blank in the face. He doesn’t have the reaction time to do anything. He was down, but not dead. “Yep, there he is.”

He can tell his friends are a little freaked out at this point. Jack can’t say he’s too surprised. He can’t quite wrap his head around what’s going on either. There’s repeated gunfire as he crawls to safety, allowing Mark, who has been unusually quiet this game, to pull him back to his feet while the others take out the enemy. The commotion on screen is knocking off his balance, weirdly enough, and he has to look away from the game for a moment and rest his forehead against the countertop. Yep. This sucks. Getting drunk was an awful idea. 

“Jack, we’re heading towards the bridge, c’mon.” Bob says, but Jack doesn’t follow, because Jack is currently puking into his trashcan under the desk. When Bob strains his ear, he can just hear the retching sounds getting picked up faintly through the microphone. “Jack?”

It takes a few minutes before Jack’s character is moving again. “The room is spinnin’” He admits to his friends solemnly.

“Do you want to stop here?”

“We’re so far though.” He complains, feeling bile in the back of his throat. “C’mon, we can do this.”

He gets picked off by an enemy player when he stops to puke again. He feels his skin quaking with shivers, and his hair falls over his eyes. This sucks.

He doesn’t hear what happens after that. Things start blurring together a little bit, but eventually Mark had died in the game, and was now asking if he could talk to Jack privately. Figuring what the heck, it wouldn’t matter anyway, he accepts the call.

Mark had immediately turned on face-cam. Jack hesitated before initiating it as well, knowing his friend already knew he had drunken himself into a gross stature. His eyes are heavy, and for some reason, Mark looks a little weary. But he puts it aside to talk to his friend.

“Hey Jack… are you okay?” 

Jack opens his mouth to respond with a lie, but then suddenly his emotions take a dangerous tip, and he feels his lip begin to quiver. He buries his face in his hands and draws a shaky breath, water beginning to overflow in his eyes.

“Sean, what’s wrong?”

But before Jack can form any coherent words, he’s full on sobbing. Gross, audible cries that wrack his shoulders and causes him to slump forward, tears running down his cheeks. Jack can’t see Mark through his fingers, but he can guess the face he’s making. Probably startled, but composed. He always seemed to hold a composed posture.

He’s waiting silently for Jack to let it out. He knows this. But Jack feels the hopelessness of his situation weigh on his shoulders, and the alcohol had pushed his emotions right over a cliff.

Jack feels a reflexive panic, wanting to tell him what’s wrong, but he knows Mark wouldn’t understand or believe him if he told him. “I-,” He falls into another sobbing fit. “I- Mark…” He presses his forehead into the counter and tries to breathe slowly, settling his nauseous stomach. It doesn’t really work. He feels bile crawling up his throat, making him feel dizzy and out of control. “I can’t…” 

“Hey, Jack, breathe, it’s okay.” Mark is trying hard to comfort him through the computer, but he knows it’s hard when he can’t be there in person. That was one of the downfalls to living so far away. Jack felt so alone right now. “Is Signe there in the house?”

Jack sniffles. “No… she’s out for the day.”

Mark is quiet, leaning his head against his hand. “Sean… Why don’t you go to bed. You’re obviously not in your right mind right now. I don’t know what’s upsetting you, but call me later and talk to me about it okay? You know you can always talk to me. And don’t forget to drink plenty of water before going to bed. Hangovers are no fun.”

Jack feels like sobbing again. But with as much as he had just cried, he doesn’t have it in him anymore. Now he just feels numb. He sniffles. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Mark says, sitting up. He stares a few moments longer, as if he has something else to say. As it is, he quietly mumbles something out of Jack’s earshot, his eyes boring through the webcam.

“Wh-what?” Jack asks, his voice hoarse.

“No, nothing. Go rest up. Have a good night.”

“I… okay. Bye.” He says pathetically, watching Mark’s face quietly until he had ended the call. He buries his face in his arms and sits there, numbly letting the minutes pass by. There’s no way out of this. 

When Signe walks in the door, it takes her a few minutes to find where Jack is. She eventually peeks into his recording room, hoping she isn’t interrupting anything, and finds him sprawled out over his desk, asleep.

She walks over to wake him, but as soon as she begins approaching, he opens his eyes. So he wasn’t asleep. “Sean?”

“Signe.” He chokes out, pulling himself to his feet. He catches the side of the desk to keep the sway in his weight under control, and he smells heavily of alcohol. Signe watches him quizzically for a few minutes.

“Sean… are you drunk?”

He nods numbly, eyes closed.

“Are you okay?" 

He shakes his head.

Signe walks forward and pulls him into her arms, letting him crumple and bury his face in her shoulder. All the tears he thought he had already cried come rushing back, and Signe pats his back as soothingly as possible. “Hey… hey… it’s okay… shhh.” She holds him tight.

“Signe.” He sniffles.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong now or tomorrow?” She asks in a small voice, running her fingers through his head.

“T-tomorrow.” He says softly.

“Then let’s go to bed. C’mon.”

With her help, he’s eventually in bed, his eyes heavy and his breathing shallow. Signe falls asleep with her arms around him, but even that doesn’t bring him any form of comfort. He’s lost, and so tired.

Tomorrow had to be the next day.

It had to be.


	4. Day 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a fluffier chapter that starts out angsty, but don't worry, things will keep spiraling. with time. *puts fingers together menacingly*

Jack wakes up to a soft brush of lips against his cheek.

“Hey Sean.” Signe whispers softly into his ear, leaning over him. “I’m leaving for the event. I’ll see you later tonight, babe.”

A hand shoots out from under the blanket and grasps Signe’s wrist, stopping her from moving away. Jack doesn’t have the energy to sit all the way up, but he opens his eyes and just stares into hers. Mist already begins to waft into his vision, and his girlfriend looks alarmed at the unexpected gesture.

“Sean?”

“Don’t go.”

It was small, and full of sadness. Signe writes it off as a joke at first, loosely pulling her hand away. “Silly. You know I gotta. I’ll see you later.”

But Jack has an iron grip on her. “No, don’t…” He says, this time with a little whine in his throat. It makes Signe stop dead in her tracks and look at him seriously, blinking once in confusion.

Jack finally sits up in the bed, holding out his other hand to take Signe’s, and she obliges, letting Jack hold fast to both her arms. “Jack, are you okay?” She asks seriously, frowning. Jack sits on his knees on the bed, looking down at their hands, before shaking his head in response. Before she can say anything else, he reaches out and pulls her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her and burying his head in her shoulder.

He’s not crying this time. In fact, he doesn’t know if he even can anymore. He just feels numb. A cold, tired weariness has crept over him and he just stays there, sharing his girlfriends’ warmth, breathing in her scent.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” Signe whispers softly.

There’s a long hesitation before he responds in a small, unsure voice. “I can’t.”

She doesn’t move away from the hug, but she does lift her head up, trying to look him in the eye. “Sean, you know you can tell me anything, right? …I’ve never seen you this upset before.”

 _You wouldn’t believe me if I told you._ He wants to say, so badly, but he knows that would cause more trouble than he figured. So instead, he lies. He lies because he knows there’s really nothing else to do. He pulls away from the hug, letting her go, and then lets out a breath. She’s right, she needs to go. She’d been planning this for months. _Even if it’s just going to reset again._ “I’m fine, Signe… I just… had… a nightmare.” He caves, looking at the floor.

Signe frowns, reaching out to cup Jack’s face. “Oh… I’m sorry, babe.” She says softly, giving him a little peck on the lips. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, no… it’s okay. I’m sorry. I woke up spooked. You need to go or you’ll be late.”

Signe doesn’t deviate from his gaze, but she does press her lips together in thought, heaving a soft sigh. “Well… alright. If you need to talk about it, you know you can talk to me. You can call me if you need to, okay?" 

“Okay. Thanks babe.” He says, looking down at his lap.

“Hey.” She says one more time, rubbing her thumb against his cheek. “Whatever you saw wasn’t real. Everything’s okay.”

He reaches up, taking her hand in his, and tries his best to muster a smile. “I know.” He says.

“Try to sleep a little longer. It’s still early.” She says as she walks through the door, leaving him behind with an assuring smile. “Have a great day." 

“You too.”

She shuts the door, and Jack face-plants back into the pillow. _What am I supposed to do?_

He’s seen this happen once in a movie. He never thought his situation would actually happen, but here he is, stuck in today. He tries conjuring up how they broke the repeat, but most scenarios it was because they were in a sucky life and had to have that courage to ask that person out, or stand up to their boss, or seize the day.

But Jack had been blessed with an amazing life, girlfriend, and job. What was he supposed to do different to break this vicious cycle?

His stomach rumbles but he doesn’t think he has the energy to move.

Part of him wanted to keep some sort of count for how many days this has been, because they’re already starting to blur together. But nothing seemed to carry over to the next day- not even scratches. Drawing on his skin probably wouldn’t do anything.

And he was getting sicker.

What had started off as clammy skin and a sinus headache had turned into a sniffly nose and a raspy cough in the several days he’d been stuck. This just seemed to be the icing on the cake at this point.

He gets up to make coffee, doing his best not to drop his mug.

“Okay.” He says out loud, trying to think. “The day repeated on one of the worst days I’d had in a long time. Each day got a little better in some regard- except for yesterday. Because I was a drunk idiot. Is fate just trying to get me to relive this day until I have the best day ever?”

The walls’ answer was silence. He hated when he was stressed and Signe wasn’t here to help. “What’s the secret to getting out of this loop? Winning a prize? Saving someone’s life? Do I have to die?” The last idea tumbled out of his lips before he thought about it, and it sent a shiver down his spine. _No. Out of the question._

He looks down at the mug in his hand, and he pauses. The mug was without a single scratch, seam, or suggestion of a break in it. No one would have known the mug had broken.

Jack uncurls his fingers and lets the mug slip from his hand.

It makes a loud clanging noise, breaking off into about five pieces on the lip, and the shred of coffee it still had inside splatters across the floor towards the cabinets. Jack stares down at it, transfixed.

“Nothing matters.”

He tears his gaze away and walks over to the cabinet with all the glass inside. He hesitates just for a moment, thinking to himself, _what if the day goes back to normal tomorrow? What if-_

No, it wouldn’t. His mind fuzzes over for a moment, and he’s only half aware of what he’s doing. He scoots backward, getting his feet as far back as he can, and then reaches his arm into the cabinet of glass. He goes past it all, getting elbow deep in the cupboard before pushing against the mugs and cups towards the front.

He tenses up just as the first glass cup hits the floor and breaks, followed by many, many others in suit of it. It’s like a waterfall of glass, and Jack strains to keep his feet far back and out of the way of the blast zone. But stray shards still manage to find their way to his feet, and he feels one or two of them cut his skin. But it doesn’t matter. _It doesn’t matter because it’ll reset again and again._

By the time all the glass in the cabinet are now piles of shards on the ground mixed with the coffee he spilled, he steps backward, ignoring the small sting in his feet from where a few pieces caught him. He sits down at the kitchen table, staring at it, and then he begins to laugh. A hardy, genuine belly laugh erupts from his throat and he knows now that he’s losing his mind. He presses his hand into his forehead and his shoulders quake with hysterics, his grin bringing an uneasy soreness to his cheeks. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and soon they’re rolling down his cheeks with his laughter. He feels sick to his stomach.

_Getting tired yet?_

This voice startles him back into a sober posture, and he sits up, looking around the room in alarm. Chills run up his arms, causing Goosebumps. After a few moments, he calls out, “Is someone there?”

But no one answers him.

He’s hungry. That’s the first thought that takes him away from the disaster of the kitchen and his paranoia. The idea of ordering a pizza is becoming much, much more appealing at this point, but then he realizes that if he can do anything he wanted with no consequence of tomorrow, he didn’t have to just stay in his own house.

Jack throws on a coat and walks out the front door, looking around the neighborhood. There were a few people out and about, but otherwise, it was pretty quiet. He considers his options before he suddenly stops in the middle of the sidewalk, cursing at himself. “What am I _doing?”_ He whispers into his scarf, furrowing his eyebrows. _“_ Just get your groceries and go home. You don’t need to cause a scene just because you can.”

_But it’s so much more fun._

His head snaps up again, looking around, but he realizes that it wasn’t a voice nearby. It sounded like he thought of it himself. In fact, it shared his own voice. _I really am losing my mind._

Robin texts him. Jack answers on autopilot, granting him his days off. But then after a moment, he clicks call and brings the phone up to his ear.

“Yellow?” Robin answers cooly. 

“Have you ever had a day repeat over and over before?”

There’s a long silence on the other end before his friend speaks again. “Um… what?”

“Have you ever got up to the exact same thing every day and you can never escape it?”

“Like… in a sense of doing the same thing, like a crappy job every day, and wanting to do more with your life? Sure I’ve had moments like that before, I guess… Why?”

“No, not like…” Jack stops, and then sighs. _Why am I doing this?_ He changes his direction. “Yeah, like that. How do you get out of that?”

“Well…” Robin lets out a breath. “You just kinda… start working towards a better tomorrow I guess. If you want a different job you start preparing yourself for it, so that one day you’ll be ready to take that on instead. But Jack… are you… are you suggesting you don’t want to do YouTube anymore?” 

Jack ignores his last question. This conversation was pointless. “Never mind. Thanks. You go be with your family.” 

“…You good Jack?” 

“Yep!” He says, hanging up the call before Robin could respond. He sighs, digging his hands in his coat pockets and breathing through his scarf to ward off the cold air.

_I gotta start making a list of things that could potentially break the cycle, and then start trying them._

_Or you could take advantage of your freedom._

There was that second voice again. It was really starting to creep Jack out because it _sounds_ like it should be his own thought, but it felt separate, like someone else was talking through his imagination unwarranted. _Maybe I’m going insane._

He coughs again into the crook of his arm, mentally reminding himself to buy some medicine while he’s out. Misery creeps through his veins, and he doesn’t know if he can stand it any longer.

He runs into the fan. Of course he does. It seems as though every interaction with Kaitlyn went south in some way. She approaches calling his name, and he caves, turning around with a smile.

They greet, they take a picture, and this time Jack doesn’t bother telling her not to go to his house. If he can leave her on a high note, and then lose her before she manages to find his home, he’ll consider that a win. Some faint little spark of hope inside him whispered, _That’s it, that’ll break the loop!_

But that hope doesn’t remain for too long.

Something stops him in his tracks. He needs to lose Kaitlyn on the streets, but he also remembers that the Event Signe is helping work isn’t too far of a walk from where he was. He could go visit her and spend some time doing something different for a change.

He goes to the store first, but instead of buying anything that wouldn’t last outside of a fridge, he buys picnic foods.

Every year, in a small park away from the city, there’s a craft fair. It’s mostly geared towards younger kids, and sometimes adults like going through just to look at the cute options and pick stuff out for their own small ones. This year, being where they live now, Signe wanted to be there and help hold a booth and sell stickers, chains, buttons, and the likes. A good friend she had come to know in the area, who also happened to be an artist, had connected with her and they hit it off instantly. As Jack began to wander the booths, keeping an eye out for Signe, he sees her friend Lucy first.

“Sean!” Lucy calls out, putting down the box she was carrying and greeting him with a hug. “How are you? I didn’t expect to see you today!”

Lucy had moved to the area only a few years prior. She had a thick American accent, with a southern dialect, and she didn’t know who Jack was or what he did for a living. It was a little refreshing at times being treated like a normal human being like everyone else around him. Not that it deterred his love for what he does and his respect for his position, but in talking to someone who only knew him through his girlfriend, it was almost charming. It made his heart warm.

“Hello Lucy!” He says as they break from the hug. “I just thought I’d swing by and check out the booths, and bring you guys some lunch. Is Signe around?”

“How sweet! I think she’s in the bathroom, but she’ll be back in a minute.” Lucy says, reaching down to pick up her box.

He beats her to it. “Here, I got it.”

“Oh bless you, that was getting heavy.” She says with a small smile, waving her hand to signal him to follow her. “Our booth is right down here.”

Jack tries not to visibly struggle with the weight of the box, confused at the fact that petite little Lucy had gotten this far with it. Grocery bags still dangle from his arms, but he’s got it. He lets his eyes wander to the booths they pass, letting his gaze grow transfixed with the colors and crafts and creativity of the people here. Most of these people had so much more talent than he would ever find in his pinkie finger, and these were just geared towards young children. It simply amazed him. 

“Right here!” Lucy says, smiling as he follows and puts the box down behind their table. It was at that moment that Signe walks up, hiding her hands in her coat pockets.

“Sean! What are you doing here?” She asks with a smile, walking over to offer him a small kiss. 

He takes it with pleasure, putting his hands on her sides. “Just wanted to come visit. All these booths look so amazing!”

She lets out a soft sigh, looking down the isles of color that stretch to the edges of the park, and to the multiple families that are perusing the area. She looks so at ease here. So happy. It made Jack’s heart warm to see, and for those few moments, he forgot all about his predicament. “It’s gonna be a great day.” She says, before turning back to him and lowering her voice. “You feeling any better?"

The cold air made his nose and cheeks red, and it was hard to tell that he was feeling ill at all. But he knows that’s not what she meant. He gives a soft chuckle, nodding his head “Yeah, I’m okay.”

She reaches forward and hugs him. “I’m glad you could come visit today.”

“Me too.” He says, smiling. “Do you need any help with anything?”

“Actually yeah! We’re trying to put up another display. Lucy you got the box?”

“Yep!” Lucy calls from the booth, grinning ear to ear.

The distraction is nice. It’s something different, and it brings him a better distraction than trying to simply get through the day. Plus, he gets to now spend his time with his girlfriend. In setting it up, he no longer felt like he was going crazy.

Eventually, he decides to go ahead and ask. “Mind if I help you guys with your booth today?”

Signe’s expression takes a second to process, but it turns out concerned. “But… don’t you have videos to record today?”

Jack lies. “I have enough pre-recorded to get me through tomorrow. I would love to spend the day just kicking back with you guys.”

That seems to put a sparkle in Signe’s eyes, and she grins, putting a hand on his arm. “Of course, then! I’ll go get you another chair.” She turns and walks away, and Jack watches her go, his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face.

“I think you just made her year.” Lucy says with a smile, interrupting his thoughts.

“She made mine too.”

“You two are such saps." 

That makes him laugh, and he’s instantly thankful for the warm company Lucy brings. Signe returns with an extra chair not long after, and Jack spends his day helping his girlfriend sell her little stickers and trinkets to small kids, whose eyes light up at the abundance of color that surrounds them. It’s cold outside, and he feels ill, but being somewhere different for the day makes his heart happier. He wasn’t sure what else he would have done had he gone through the rest of his day.

At some point in the evening, when he knows he should have been recording with his friends, his phone begins to go off. But he knows that if he answers it, he’ll be forced to face his problems once more. He elects to ignore it.

Eventually, his phone keeps buzzing to the point of annoyance. He turns off notifications and puts his phone on silent mode, hoping to go through the rest of the booth festival without thinking about his problems.

After it ends, it still takes them a long time to tear down the set up. It’s long late by the time they get back to their home. It takes exactly four seconds for Jack to remember the state the kitchen is in, and he steers Signe away from it, getting to their bedroom without having to walk through it.

Eventually, he pulls his phone back out. He expected missed calls and texts from his friends for not making it to the recording session, but he wasn’t expecting 29 missed calls from Mark. He frowns at his phone, confused, and then goes to his recording space to take it. He’s about to call him on his phone, but then notices that he’s online on Skype. He clicks call.

It doesn’t take more than two rings before he answers. Mark’s face pops up on screen and he looks half frustrated, half panicked. “Jack?!”

“Hey. …Everything okay?”

Mark buries his face in his hands, looking like he’s about to lose it. “I’ve been trying to call you _all night_! Where have you been?”

At something like this, Jack would normally joke. But Mark seems serious. “I… I spent the day with Signe.”

“You are acting different! I knew it!" 

“Different?”

Mark looks up from his hands, staring at him with such sincerity it makes Jack’s skin crawl. And when Mark speaks, it makes his heart stop dead in his chest.

“Your day has been repeating too, hasn’t it?”


	5. Day 5-6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all the comments and kudos y'all have left behind. They mean the world to me and it gives me so much excitement to keep writing! I love y'all <3

“Sean, you coming to bed?” Signe calls from the other room.

Jack is in shock. He might have stopped breathing, too. He’s staring at Mark, eyes wide, for several long moments, trying to comprehend what he just _said. He just said that he knows, he knows, he knows_.

“Sean?” 

“I- go on without me Signe.” He calls back, his voice breaking.

She knocks on his recording room door and peeks in not a moment later. He has to tear his gaze away from the computer to give her some semblance of a normal expression. “You okay?”

“I- Yeah, I just gotta talk to Mark for a little bit.”

She walks over and puts an arm on his shoulder, waving a greeting to Mark, who does his best to smile and wave back. Signe opens her mouth as if she’s about to speak, but Jack cuts her off. “Really. I’m good. I’ll catch up in a few minutes.” 

He knows Signe thinks he’s avoiding sleep because of his so-called “nightmare”, but she knows better than to bring it up in front of another person. Besides, there’s a tension in the room now that makes her feel like she shouldn’t interrupt them. “Well… okay. Don’t stay up too late.” She says softly, brushing her fingers against his shoulder before exiting the room.

As soon as the door clicks shut, he whirls back around to Mark, suddenly energetic and alarmed. “How… how do you know about the repeats?” He whispers under his breath, with force behind his voice.

“The day has been repeating for me too.” Mark mutters. His hair is frazzled, like he’s been stressing himself out. 

“But… but you didn’t change… You were exactly the same. You said the same things before. You even questioned me when I brought up something I did the day before it.” 

“Wait… how many times has your day repeated?” Mark asks, now curious.

Jack turns away from the computer to let out a cough into the crook of his elbow, swallowing back his illness. “I… I think five?” Jack suggests, trying to conjure up his memories. But all the days felt like they were blurring together. He specifically remembers on the second day, Mark was confused when he brought up his little tantrum, and his brain begins to hurt. “How many…” 

“This is my third go-around.” Mark says before he can finish his question. “I noticed everything was the same, except the second day you acted different than the first. You weren’t drunk on the first day. Unless I missed it. I called you to see if I could get answers out of you, but you were…”

“Yeah.” Jack lowers his gaze. “I get that. But why not call me straight away this morning?”

“Because then I started doubting that you were going through this too. Like I just missed over it the first day or something. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but today, when you didn’t show up for recording at all, that was the biggest red flag. I tried calling you all night. Frankly I was a bit freaked out.”

Jack covers his face with his hands, letting an uneasy chuckle escape his lips. He sniffles through his stuffy nose, and wipes at his eyes as they begin to tear up. “I thought… I… I don’t know what I think, but I’m so tired.”

“I thought I was going crazy.” Mark says, and he takes a moment to figure out how to put his thoughts into words. He wipes at his eyes. “Maybe I still am going crazy.”

“This _is_ crazy.” Jack agrees, and then he tugs at his hair, looking down at the keyboard. “Would you have believed someone if they told you that you’d relive the same day over and over again?”

“Not a chance.” He mutters, releasing an exhale through his teeth. “I’m just… Sean, I know this is sucky to say, but I’m glad you’re also going through this too. It makes me feel a whole lot better.”

“No, no you’re right. Same to you.” Jack admits, feeling that weight in his chest lift even the slightest bit. There’s a pause as they try to figure out how to approach this, and they’re both staring downwards, lost in thought.

“Okay.” Mark says after a few moments of silence. “Okay. I’ve… seen this before in movies, right? What I’m thinking is that there’s gotta be some secret to breaking the loop, right?”

The Irishman sniffles, looking up at his friend with his lip in his teeth. “I’m glad you haven’t given up hope, because I was starting to.”

“I’m trying my best not to let it run me down quite yet.” Mark says, and Jack feels a pang of guilt for letting it bring him to his knees so easily.

“I was thinking the same thing about finding that, like, secret, but… but I don’t know where to even start with that.”

Mark hums in thought, and then reaches for a spare notebook and a pen. “One of the things I thought I could try was re-enacting the day exactly the same as the original day. Like, trying to remember everything as exactly as it happened and then re-doing it.”

There’s a beat of silence before a small nod. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. One of my ideas was trying to make it a great day for myself. Like, the original day of mine was one of the worst days I’d had in a long time. Fixing it so that I had the best day ever, or whatever, might fix it.” It sounded stupid out loud, but Jack finishes his words anyway, letting Mark jot it down.

“That’s a good idea. I wasn’t having the best day of my life either when it started repeating.” He presses the butt of the pen against his lip. “What if we made that day a day where we did things for other people? Made everyone else’s days and stuff.”

“That could work. Something about being charitable to others?”

“I wish I knew why we’re in this loop.”

“I wish I knew _how_.”

Mark sighs in response, looking downcast. “Okay. Have you noticed that the repeat keeps happening at nine thirty PM? 

Jack frowns. “Nine thirty?”

“Ah, what is that in your time? Like four AM?” Mark counts on his fingers. “Five thirty AM for you. So you’re probably asleep each time it happens.”

“Yeah.” Jack says, rubbing his arm. “I didn’t start the original day with much sleep, so the time I tried staying up with it, I fell asleep.” But Jack tries to imagine what it’s like to have the day reset that early in the night. He feels a pang of sympathy for Mark, but it’s interrupted when Mark pulls up his notebook and scans over it.

 

“Okay. Which method are we trying first?”

“Let’s try getting the day exactly the same as the original. It couldn’t hurt to try right?”

“Right.” _But it may just be a waste of time and we're doomed to this forever._

Mark thinks to himself. “I’ll see you when we start recording for PUBG. Just so we know we're still aware, is there a code word we can use tomorrow? To let each other know?

 Jack frowns. “I don't want to tempt fate with things that are different than the original. We'll just have to have faith during this go-around.”

That earns a sigh of defeat from the other. “…You're right. Okay."

Jack feels sick.

“There’s another thing.” Jack brings up before either of them move on. “Every day has been the same except for one constant changing factor. I keep getting sicker.”

That perks Mark’s attention. “You are?”

“Yeah.” Jack grabs at the tissues on his desk while he thinks about it. “Which is odd because, I cut my hand open on Day 1 and it healed by the next day. But my cold just keeps getting worse and worse. …But not in the normal way a cold spreads.”

“Interesting.” Mark says softly, writing that down in his notebook. “Because… I’ve been feeling a little under the weather myself, but I figured it was just stress over what was going wrong, and all the repeating and stuff." 

“Mark.”

“Yeah?”

“Nothing you write in that notebook will stay there.”

His friend pauses and looks at the page, his eyes flickering over the words in thought with his pen at his lips. After a moment, his face cracks into a smirk before he puts it away. “Yep, I’m an idiot.”

“You goof.” Jack finds himself smiling.

“Okay. Remember. Exactly the same as Day 1." 

“Exactly the same.”

They both nod in unison, and Jack is undeniably filled with hope. It was something he hadn’t felt in the past few days at all, but having Mark at his side now, things would turn out for the better. They were going to find a way out of this. 

“See you on the flip side.” Mark says as his farewell, ending the call with a wave. Jack sits up in his char, feeling reinvigorated.

_You enjoy your false sense of security for now._

Jack whirls around in his chair, looking behind him in alarm, but no one was there.

\-----

 Jack wakes up to a soft brush of lips against his cheek.

“Hey Sean.” Signe whispers softly into his ear, leaning over him. “I’m leaving for the event. I’ll see you later tonight, babe.”

Jack wakes up, and for a moment, he’s about to speak, or open his eyes. But immediately, as if he had just been told, he keeps his mouth shut and burrows further into the blanket. That’s what he did on the first day. He didn’t say goodbye, or ask her anything, he just silently accepted her leave and tried going back to sleep.

But he’s wide awake now. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to go back to sleep. But did he on the first day? He doesn’t remember.

He braves it until he feels as though he’s laid in bed long enough, and then trudges into the kitchen. _Okay, I dropped the coffee mug the first morning. And… coffee splattered all over my legs. I’ll have to do that again._

It’s a moment he’s dreading, because he knows it’s going to hurt. But he sucks it up with the idea that this could work. The morning goes on, and eventually, as he finishes making coffee, he tenses up and lets the full glass slip from his fingers, dropping it in the direction for the coffee to spill over his bare legs.

He hisses in pain and alarm, grabbing the kitchen towel to dab it gently. The stinging sensation subsides easily enough, and he sighs in relief. It’s going to be a long, long day. He starts towards his recording room before he remembers that he tweeted about the coffee spill, which is what got Robin to call him earlier in the day, because he knew he was awake.

When Robin calls, he tries his best to remember exactly how the conversation went. It’s tough, and he’s pretty sure he messed up here and there, but generally, it went the same.

For the first time in what seems like a long time, he tries recording videos again. But he knows that one of this save files didn’t actually save, and the program would trash another one, and he has to go through each thing individually despite it all. Only his hope that he’ll see tomorrow keeps him going, but it doesn’t stop the frustration and stress from eating at his very nerves.

Eventually, he leaves for the store, grabbing his coat. He runs into Kaitlyn. Everything goes the same. Right down to seeing her in front of his own front door. He almost forgets to drop the eggs when he gets “startled”, but he lets them slip at the last second, making it look like an accident, and cuts his hand on the door.

Everything is going the _same._

And Jack _hates it._  

He really, _really_ wants to text Mark. It was the other who wanted some sort of confirmation, and Jack had written it off, but having someone to talk to during this would have been nice. He’s itching to pick up his phone and just send a little emoji if it meant he could get a little nod back, but he didn’t dare risk it.

Recording failures, frustrations, and so on, Jack sits down to record PlayerUnknown’s Battlegrounds with his friends, when suddenly something occurs to him.

_Mark doesn’t remember my original day. He doesn’t remember when I screamed at them all._

Suddenly he’s shivering. No, he’s shaking. he didn’t want to go through that again. _Anything but that._ Mark would have had no idea that that he had such a big meltdown, and might even think it was genuine. _If the days really do go back to normal after this, I’ll have to face the consequences for yelling at my friends._

_What is Mark going to think of me after this?_

“Ayye there’s Jackaboy.” Mark responds instantly when he enters the call, followed by a whoop from Wade.

“Up for some PUBG?” Wade asks, and he feels his heart melting in terror.

“Sure man.” He responds simply, opening his recording programs. “Just give me a minute to catch up.”

They fall into easy conversation. Jack makes sure to let out a groan when his recording program crashes, just like before, and works with it the long way until he manages to get it running. When finally, _finally,_ they start the game and drop into the map, Jack immediately starts heading left.

_No, wait. You went forward the first time. You got shot right off the bat._

With all his instincts screaming against him going towards the sure danger, he goes anyway, opening the door and receiving a bullet to the face.

“Whoop, Jack, you already died? That sucks.” Wade says.

_That’s my cue._

He sucks in a breath and then lets out a long string of curses at the game, banging his injured hand against the desk, trying to sound as furious as he possibly can. There’s a sting that comes from his hand, but he ignores it. He can tell the others are startled by this, and he tries his best to sound genuinely mad at his situation. _If it means I get a tomorrow, so be it._ When they start trying to laugh off his anger, he immediately directs it back at them, just like before, but this time his heart is heavy as he does so. Jack doesn’t want to sit here and insult his friends, and scream at them, and take his anger out on them, and he really wishes he had given Mark some sort of forewarning, but there was nothing he could do.

Eventually, he throws off his earphones, letting the cord unplug from the audio output, and walks across the room to sit against the wall. He holds his head in his hands, feeling ready to cry again. _I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry._

“Whoah, Jack, dude, chill…” Bob replies, legitimately startled. “It’s okay. Relax. Just a game.”

He waits a few moments, wondering if Mark would say what he said last time, but nothing is heard. Jack wonders if Mark was too startled to say anything. _I really screwed this up. He’s gonna hate me now._

Jack drags himself to his feet and walks back over to the computer, plugging his earphones back in and slipping them on over his ears. He takes another deep breath, attempting to steady his breathing, before he finally responds.

“Sorry.” He whispers in a small voice, feeling guilty.

“Jack… you okay buddy?” Wade asks, his voice coming a little hesitantly, as if the outburst scared him. 

He buries his face in his hand, his heart still pounding. He ignores the tickle in his throat that comes before a cough. “I’m fine." 

“I don’t think you are.” Bob says.

Jack waits. Mark says nothing. Not a word. He wouldn’t know what to say here anyway, this wasn’t his original day. “I’m… going to go take a nap. Talk to you guys later.”

They bid him an uneasy farewell and Jack closes his programs, leaning back in the chair with an uneasy sigh.

He makes sure to go to bed before Signe gets home.

Part of him hopes that it works. Part of him hopes that tomorrow will bring an actual tomorrow instead of a repeat.

But this time, part of him hopes he gets one more chance to have a better day before moving on with the consequences.


	6. Day 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter than normal, but things should go back to longer parts as the story continues. Thank you guys so much for the kind comments you've written and the kudos you've left behind! Y'all are awesome : D

Jack wakes up to a soft brush of lips against his cheek.

“Hey Sean.” Signe whispers softly into his ear, leaning over him. “I’m leaving for the event. I’ll see you later tonight, babe.”

Jack immediately feels a weird mix of relief and distraught. That’s his first thought. His second thought is: _I need to talk to Mark._

His third thought and action is a groan, because he can barely breathe through his nose.

It causes him to wake up entirely, his adrenaline freeing him from grogginess, and he reaches out to take Signe’s hand in his, trying to force himself to look energetic and not sick. She jumps in alarm, clearly not expecting him to wake up entirely.

“Well good morning there.” She greets with a giggle.

“Have a good day, babe.” He says, giving her a smile. She smiles back with a weird, funny smirk, and then gives him a kiss on the cheek.

“You too.” She says, slipping out of his grasp and exiting the room.

_I’m going to try making today a great one._

He’s not sure where to start, if he’s entirely honest. Spending the day with her previously had been an amazing day on it’s own. He considers for a moment, remembering how badly that day had started out. _So what if I go with her from the start?_

“Hey Signe!” He calls out hesitantly, wondering if she had walked out the front door yet.

She peeks back into the room a moment later, her hand resting on the door knob. “Yes?”

“Can I join you at the event today?" 

She seems startled, but Jack knows she won’t say no. “But… don’t you have videos to record?”

“I have enough pre-recorded.” He says, trying not to let the fact that he's been repeating several lines of dialog over and over these past few days. Another part of him is worried, because he really doesn’t feel well, and standing out in the cold all day wasn’t going to make him feel better. But he knows he’d enjoy it a lot more than wallowing at home. “I wanna join you.”

Her face seems to brighten up at that, and she grins. “Well of course you can. Um, I need to go on ahead and help Lucy set up, but come on over whenever you’re ready! We’ll put out a chair for you.”

“Great, thanks!” He says, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to get dressed. “I’ll see you there!”

She shuts the door behind her and leaves Jack alone to his thoughts.

_I really want to call Mark._

He checks his phone, knowing that it had to be like one AM in California, and that he’d have to suffer through the day long before he’d be able to talk to him. 

Leaving his home early enough, he manages not to run into the fan, and that earns him another point for victory. He’s going to have a great day. And maybe this’ll be what triggers the continuation of his week.

He has to admit, he did feel pretty satisfied when he walked into the kitchen to find it clean and spotless, but another part of him felt sick to his stomach that he had even gotten to that point of throwing all the glass on the ground in the first place.

He tries not to think about it.

He had a hope now. A reason to push on and keep moving, and to find ways out of his predicament. Having Mark share his position gave him a reason to find a way out, because now he wasn’t fighting alone, and for that, he was thankful.

Jack had no idea how long he would have lasted on his own.

It was great being at the craft festival before everyone else arrived. Jack had let his mind slip into a more relaxed state as he helped set up the tent and displays, listening to the small chatter of the other vendors across the park. Plus, any day he could steal to spend with his girlfriend was well worth it, even if it was to do something he’d already done recently.

Mentally, he’s counting down the hours until it’s a reasonable time to call his friend. He wasn’t sure when Mark got up each day of the reset. He should have asked. Add that to the list of things he should have talked to Mark about before they took action, but most of his anxiety rests in the fact that he has no idea how his friend was taking his meltdown. 

Jack coughs a raspy, broken chest cough that rattles his throat. _Great._

“You feeling okay?” Signe asks, walking over to put a hand to his forehead. He doesn’t have a chance to respond before she pulls it away with a grimace. “Your forehead is burning up.”

“Feeling a little under the weather is all. I’m good.”

She presses her lips together in thought, and then frowns, putting a hand on his cheek. “You sure you want to be out here when you’re not feeling good? How about you go home and rest… It’s freezing out here.”

He frowns. That wouldn’t make the day go well at all. He’d just lay around all day feeling gross and disgusting in his illness, and that was the last thing that would make his day a good one. Maybe he’d have to try for that best-day-ever idea when he wasn’t feeling terrible. Now that he considers it, it doesn’t take much coaxing for him to cave, because eventually he realizes his perfect day isn’t idealistic in this circumstance. He really would like to go lay down. “Yeah, okay babe. I’ll head home. You guys enjoy.”

“I hope you feel better.” Signe says, squeezing his hand in sincerity.

“Bye Sean! Feel better!” Lucy calls out behind them as he pats Signe on the shoulder before leaving.

He walks home, feeling his nose stuff even further. His feet are dragging, and he feels like the world is just giving his shoulders all the weight it possesses, burdening him with so many problems he didn’t’ want to bare. It’s tough just keeping one foot in front of the other. He had only killed about two hours at the festival, and now he’d have to endure the rest of the day with nothing to do until he could talk to Mark. _Use this time to think of other ways to break the loop._

_Maybe the internet will help._

Stopping on his way home to get food, he takes the short route and hopes Kaitlyn didn’t see him, stepping into his house with a tired soreness and a chest cough. He takes his lunch with him into the recording room, deciding to go ahead and start scrolling and researching while he stuffs his face with a burger.

As it turns out, there are a lot more movies, shows, books, and games that have time loops than he first realized. He finds himself scrolling through them, curious as to what solved the problem for each them, and if they could give him some ideas to help him. Most of the summaries had similar ideas- the main character was stuck in a loop and used that opportunity to ask someone out, or to tell off their boss, or to stop a murder from taking place, or to save someone’s life. But none of these applied to Jack. _At least, I hope no one I know is getting murdered today._

He keeps scrolling, stumbling upon some more creative ones that wouldn’t make any sense to his scenario in the slightest. Overall, it seemed like a dead end. Except he is starting to feel a little nervous about the whole murder thing, wondering if it was actually happening and he just wasn’t aware, so he decides to start calling friends just to check on them.

“’Ello?”

“Hey Felix.” Jack says in greeting, mentally crossing his name off the list. He’s alive and well. “What’s up?”

“Since when do you call me on the phone?” Felix laughs, but Jack hears shuffling on the other line, and his friend keeps speaking. “I’m just working on tomorrow’s video right now. Did you want to record something?”

“Nah, just wanted to check up on ya.”

“Check up on me?” Felix laughs again. “You feeling alright?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m good. Actually, ah, I just remembered I have to do something. Talk to you later.”

“Jack?” Felix asks, sounding somewhat sincere, but Jack hangs up before any more words could be said.

He tries calling Robin, knowing he’s taking his day off, but he hopes he was having a safe trip to his family. It takes several rings for him to answer, but when he does, Jack feels a deep sense of relief. And he is fine. In fact, Jack had called him just as he was nearing his destination to meet up with his family. Another mental check. 

Getting into contact with as many loved ones as he possibly can, he finds that everyone is doing just great. No one was murdered or is in the process of getting murdered. Jack makes a mental note to call them again before bed just to be safe that it doesn’t happen later in the day.

Finally, _finally,_ he gets a skype call from Mark.

He does some mental math to determine what time it is there. It would be around eight AM for the American. Just the call is indication enough that Mark remembers, because he wouldn’t have called otherwise. 

“Mark?” He asks hesitantly as he pops up on screen, feeling his heart begin to pound.

His friend appears not a moment later, looking tired. “Hey Jack.”

“Mark, about yesterday…” Jack takes a breath, trying to sound clear through his stuffed nose. He feels awful, and not just because of the illness. “I’m really, really sorry about that freak out. That was… that was what happened on the original day and I meant to warn you about it, and it pained me to have to go through that again. I didn’t mean any of it and I’m a little glad the days didn’t continue after that because I feel really bad and I wish I could take it all back and I never meant a word of it and I... I….”

“Jack... Jack calm down.” Mark says, holding his hands up in assurance, and it’s only then that Jack realizes he sounds like he’s on the verge of crying. He sniffles, grabbing a tissue while Mark tries to unravel this spiral of stress. “It’s okay. Thank you for apologizing, but tell me… Your original day was really bad enough that you snapped like that?”

Jack wipes at his eyes, sniffling through his illness. “It was the worst. And you don’t want to know.”

“I think you’re right, I don’t know if I want to.” Mark laughs weakly, “I’ve never heard you get so upset. I think you need therapy or something.”

“I’m gonna need it after we get out of this loop.” Jack laughs, thankful that his friend was so willing to lighten the mood. “I’m really sorry about that by the way. I had sent a message the next morning with an apology, but that was before I knew we were stuck in repeat, and before you were repeating as well.”

“I getcha. Well, I guess strike one on our ideas list.” Mark leans back in his chair, tapping a finger against his cheek. It was so weird that, over where he was, it was still early morning. “Did you want to try one of the other ideas today or did you have a better one in mind?”

“Well,” Jack sighs. “I was going to try having my best-day-ever, but I was going to spend it with Signe, and I’m feeling worse than I have in ages. She told me to go home and rest, and I didn’t really have the energy to argue." 

Mark hums in thought.

“I also just spent the past few hours looking through the internet for how people solved it in movies and TV.”

At something like this, he probably would have expected Mark to laugh at the ridiculousness of their situation, but at this point, he doesn’t think he’d find it appropriate. “And?”

“Well, one of the biggest ones I saw was that they were getting reset to save someone’s life. Like they were given multiple chances to start over until they saved them. I tried calling most of who I knew just to check up on them, but it seems like everyone’s okay. I was going to call them again later tonight to double check that they didn’t get murdered later in the night.”

“Hmm, that’s a really good idea.” Mark murmers, lost in thought. “Maybe try calling them closer to the reset time. Maybe it resets as soon as someone dies.”

Jack tries not to let morbid thoughts run wild through his head. It’s a little difficult. “I’m all for looking for ways out of this, but I really and sincerely hope that this is not the answer.” He swallows.

“I’m with ya." 

Silence. 

Mark runs a hand through his hair. “Okay. Today, let’s focus on making sure everyone is okay, and then tomorrow, do you want to try charity works galore? Making everyone else’s day amazing?”

Jack smiles. “You know it. Gifts, attention, compliments to all we come into contact with. What if we did a charity live-stream on top of it all?”

“Ooh yeah, that’d be fun!” Mark perks up. Jack had thought he would. “I’ll look through some organizations we can plug in for. I’ll have you skype call in, and the rest of the team would be down for it.”

Jack hesitates, an idea suddenly coming to him. It takes him a moment to process it, and then work out the logistics, before he makes up his mind. “Actually, no.”

“No?”

“No.” Jack repeats. “Don’t skype call me in.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m going to be there in person.”


	7. Day 7-8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all are ready because things are about to kick up a notch ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The rest of the night had been spent checking on their loved ones, double checking to make sure that they were all alive and well. Whenever someone didn’t pick up, they’d branch out and call people near and close to check on them. It was a hassle, but he supposed it was worth it in the end. Jack hadn’t been able to relax the entire time, and Mark wasn’t helping much with his added comments.

“I don’t know how useful this will be if they die right as the day repeats. We can’t really get an accurate idea just calling or skyping unless we do it to each person right up until the repeat time.”

Jack rubs at his face, trying to swallow his agitation. He was about to blurt out, “That would take _forever,"_ when in reality, they had all the time in the world if it came down to it. Mark agreed to focus on the livestream that day, and then if that didn’t work, they'd focus on each person individually and talk to them right until the very minute the day changes.

To Mark, this seemed simple. His day didn’t repeat until nine thirty PM. Easily, everyone he knows would be awake. But for Jack, to coerce everyone he knows and loves into staying awake and speaking to him until five thirty AM was a new ball-game entirely.

Still, he spends that night staying awake, because he wants to experience the reset. He wants to know what it’s like and what happens, to get a better grasp on how to handle this.

Eventually, sitting in bed trying to stay awake doesn’t prove very effective. He’s drifting asleep, and fast. He eventually meanders out of his bedroom and goes into his recording room, itching to call Mark. Eventually, he just goes for it. Why not, right?

“Hey.” Mark answers right away. It looks so bright over there with all the lights on in the house, and Mark looks like he’s lounging on his couch, but something about him seems off. “You’re awake?”

“I wanted to try staying up for the repeat tonight. That, and I want to make sure Signe isn’t the one dying or anything.” It sounds morbid out loud, but it’s three AM and Jack doesn’t feel like he’s operating on enough sleep to care. “You okay? You look a little ill.”

“I _am_ getting a little sick, which is worrying me a lot actually.” He sits up on the couch, letting out a shallow cough. “But I’m trying not to think too much about it right now. I’ve spent the evening calling people, but I don’t know how effective it really is.”

Concerned, Jack watches Mark for a minute, just to pick up on the nuances. He definitely does look sick in some regard, but not too bad. But the fact remains that they’re both repeating and they’re both getting sick. He doesn’t know what to do with this information. Jack rubs his eyes, suppressing a cough. He wants to contribute to the conversation, but no words come to mind, so Mark keeps talking instead. “I asked the crew to sleep here for tonight just so I can check on all four of them at once, which knocks out enough birds with one stone. They’re all downstairs. Wanna say hi?”

Jack smiles tiredly, fighting off a yawn and leaning forward. “Sure.”

Mark carries his phone downstairs and shows off his friend to everyone, letting him wave and fall into easy conversation with them. Amy greeted him first, smiling as Mark entered the room, and then the camera pans over to Tyler and Ethan goofing off in the background. Kathryn is close behind them, laughing with her arms over her belly and a contagious grin on her face. They all looked so joyful. They didn’t know it, but Jack would be seeing them tomorrow for a livestream. After perusing the flights that had already taken place that day, he had calculated in a flight that would allow him to buy a last-minute ticket during the next reset, and he could get to the USA at a reasonable morning hour. It would all work perfectly.

He chats with them, letting them poke jokes about how tired he looks, and he attempts to laugh with them on nonsensical topics. But he was getting so tired, and not just because of lack of sleep. Several times, he wanted to say he was looking forward to seeing them in person, but they wouldn’t know what he was talking about. Not that it would matter anyway, they’d reset long before their confusion would impact anything.

At one point, he has to hold his head to suppress the headache. Everything was getting too confusing.

Fifteen minutes before the reset was supposed to happen, Jack tells them goodbye and hangs up the call. The now-quiet room sends chills down his spine, and he wanders back to his bedroom, feeling his feet drag and his sore throat worsen. The hallways are ominous and haunting at this hour, and Jack feels a sense of dread push down on his shoulders.

Bedroom doors never want to be quiet when they should be, but even the creak of it’s opening doesn’t wake Signe up from her sleep. Jack walks inside, his fingers tracing the wooden baseboard, and he approaches his girlfriend from the edge of the bed. He can already hear her deep, restful breaths, and he can see her chest rise and fall under the blankets. Nonetheless, he raises his hand and holds it against her lips, feeling her breaths tickle against the skin of his hand, assuring him of her life. She was fine. Signe was okay. This couldn’t be the reason the world was resetting.

Eventually, he crawls back into his side of the bed, his heart starting to pound as the minutes drift by. He reaches out a hand again and holds it against Signe’s mouth.

_In, out, in, out, in, out_

Breath slowing to match hers, he feels his mind slowly drift towards sleep, but he fights it, trying his best to keep his eyes open. He checks his phone.

One minute.

He reaches out his arms and slips one underneath her, wrapping her in his embrace. He feels her let out an audible and confused murmer as she slowly rouses awake, but he just tucks her to his chest, resting his chin on her shoulder and putting a hand to her chest to feel her heartbeat beneath his fingertips. _Ba-thump. Ba-thump. Ba-thump._

“Sean?” Signe whispers in a sleepy croak.

Jack says nothing. He just holds her tighter. And then,

And then.

Jack doesn’t feel her body heat anymore.

She’s not tucked into his chest and wrapped up in his arms, she’s on the other side of the bed. Jack is facing the opposite wall, blinking. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to happen, but everything happened and nothing all at once. He was back in the position he would later wake up in, and the world was still and quiet. Nothing stirred.

Processing takes time, but eventually he leans his head up and checks his phone. One minute after the reset.

Jack shivers.

He takes that opportunity to grab his phone and book his flight like he had intended on doing in the first place, but he feels empty. There’s no satisfaction as he places the order.

Tears slip between his eyelids as he burrows deeper into the covers, trying to fall asleep.

Tomorrow has _got_ to work.

Jack wakes up to a soft brush of lips against his cheek.

“Hey Sean.” Signe whispers softly into his ear, leaning over him. “I’m leaving for the event. I’ll see you later tonight, babe.”

Immediately, he’s out of the bed and on his feet. Signe, the unsuspecting soul, was not ready for this burst of energy and yelps as she steps backwards, tripping over an article of clothing and falling. Jack, attempting to fight the dizzy spell from getting up so fast, grabs her arms and stops her decent halfway down, easing her onto the floor as she laughs. It’s contagious, spreading to his own amusement as he kneels down next to her. “Sorry.” He chuckles out, patting her shoulder.

“If I’d have known you’d be this awake I would have made you breakfast!” Signe laughs, grinning up at him. “Got a lot to do today?”

“You betcha!” He gives her a kiss on her cheek, trying to send as many positive vibes as he could manage. “You have a fantastic day at the craft fair, alright?”

She grins, fighting the last of her giggles. “I will!”

He helps her to her feet and sees her off, waving as she leaves the house. Immediately, he turns tail and prepares for the flight that would be leaving soon, throwing on clothes and throwing a backpack together for the day. He doesn’t want to bother packing overnight clothes, because there’s still a part of him that suspects this might not work. And even if it did, he could borrow clothes easily enough. No reason exerting unnecessary energy.

At first, he had tried concealing his identity at the airport so no one would approach him, but then he remembered that this was the day for good deeds and making peoples’ days. If a few fans recognized him and talked to him, it wouldn’t hurt to do as much as he could. As it is, several people recognized him at the airport and he chatted with each one, trying to balance their conversations while also keeping in mind the time his flight would board. Even though he didn’t think he was in the mood for it, talking to the fans did brighten his day. It always did.

If only he wasn’t so _sick_.

That was one of the downfalls, because Jack wasn’t sure how safe it was to be flying when his sinuses were screwed up and his throat felt ready to tear apart his body. But as it is, he didn’t really care so long as they kept working towards a tomorrow.

Jack wasn’t an easy sleeper on airline flights, but considering the very little amount of sleep he had received prior, he was knocked out fast. Half of his flight was gone before he had even realized, and he was surprised. He never usually slept that much.

He’d arrive around one thirty PM Mark’s time. That was the best he could do in terms of available flights and so on, but for the day, he’d have to kick back on the plane and enjoy the flight.

It was good to be doing something different. Every time he deviated from the original day, he felt like it was a new day entirely, and it was definitely helping with his mental health. That was an upside to all these ideas- because it kept him moving. As despairing as his situation felt, he just knew that this was the better way to spend his time. Productivity. He thrived on it.

When he landed, he had a text waiting for him that told him Tyler would be the one picking him up. He had another few texts from Robin, asking him for those days off. Jack mentally curses and responds, but it’s a little late for that now. He had just spent fourteen unusual hours away from the internet, and it seems like Robin was concerned, but he did his best to assure him he was fine.

Eventually, he found himself out of the airport waiting for his friend. Tyler showed up not much later, and Jack piled into the car with a friendly greeting, feeling a heavy mixture of energy and exhaustion. He throws his bag in the back.

“That’s all you have?” Tyler asked, raising an eyebrow at the backpack.

Jack shrugs innocently. “I’m a light packer.”

The airport was still far out from Mark’s home, so they kick back and chat. Jack has to catch himself multiple times from talking to him about their conversations the night before, or even about what he’d been up to the past few days. Honestly, he could barely remember what he had been doing in the week before the days started repeating, but he did his best. As far as Tyler knew, Jack and Mark had been plotting for this livestream for a while, but Jack wondered how much of that he believed. Mark would have told them.

“How was the flight?” Tyler had asked at one point.

“Dunno- I slept through most of it.”

“The flight was fourteen hours.”

“Yep.”

Jack massages his temples. He had taken medicine earlier to alleviate the illness, but it was starting to creep back in. Tyler had been giving him side glances the entire ride, but now he looked really concerned. “You feeling okay?”

He hums, figuring there was no harm in being honest. “Not really. Been feeling sick lately.”

“And you still wanted to come out here? The livestream was sudden enough- we could have put it off ‘till when you’re feeling better.”

Jack shakes his head, sharing assurances. “No, it’s fine. I’m happy to come.” And he was. If he was being honest, doing this was exciting him.

Tyler presses his lips together in thought, but doesn’t say anything else.

When they arrive, Tyler opens up the house with a spare key and steps inside, letting Jack follow. He checks his phone as he shuts the door behind him. “Mark’s downstairs getting things set up. I think Amy and Kathryn ran to Walmart, and Ethan went to get something from his home, so they’ll be back within the next twenty minutes. You can head on down there and I’ll be right there.”

Jack bounces, feeling a new rush of energy at the thought that he’d get a chance to talk to Mark alone before the day kicks off. It’d be good to get a ground point. “Thank you for driving me!” Jack says, earning a smile from Tyler before turning and attempting to go down the stairs casually.

“Mark?”

He steps into the studio room downstairs and looks around. There’s couches set up in the center of the room, facing cameras and microphones. Wires wrapped the edges of the room, snaking towards the computers off to the sides. Jack steps inside, taking it all in, and calls his friend’s name one more time. “Mark?”

“Oh, hey, Jack!” Mark calls out from around the corner, sounding like he’s in an echoing hallway. Jack’s head swivels to the sound, and he hears footsteps as his friend approaches. “How was the-“

Mark steps around the corner. Their eyes meet.

Everything changes.

The air around them tightens, yanking the air right out of Jack’s lungs and bringing the man to his knees. The world seems to slam against itself, and then it doubles in front of his eyes. It triples. Quadruples. His ears are ringing and screaming and it feels like something is clawing it’s way out of his throat, kicking his stomach and sending bile to his lips, restraining him and punching him with a force lacking restraint behind his eyes. He doesn’t feel the sensation of carpet beneath his knees, he feels _fire_.

He doesn’t feel real anymore. His tongue tastes blood and his eyes are shattering into a million pieces. A sickly green glow swims through his vision and he can barely hear Mark screaming in the background, somewhere far away and unreachable. His screams sound ugly and the air reeks of death. The world flips.

Falling.

That’s the only sensation Jack feels. His feet had been swept out from under him and he’s falling head-first through a dark oblivion. Nothing restrains him. He has no voice. No control. No company. He’s utterly alone and descending into eternity without anything stopping him.

And then everything stills at once.

There’s a fuzziness to his limbs and a building fire of chaotic discord in his chest, reaping all forms of fear and weariness that had resided in this consciousness just moments prior.

Anti opens his eyes.


	8. Day 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“Dark.”

The silhouette in question steps through the void- a wading soul through a sea of nothingness. A soft glow of red and blue follows him, and a faint ring fills the air. His voice is suave when he speaks, as though he had nothing if not confidence.

“Anti.”

Anti smirks, a psychotic giggle filling the gaps of his words. “I see you’ve been taking cues from me. Nice to know I’ve always been one step ahead.”

“No need to flatter yourself.” Dark responds cooly, adjusting his suit. “And I will admit, it is… assuring to speak to you again.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Anti glitches. Almost as though he were teleporting, the faze pushes him towards the other soul, planting them face to face. “Now, tell me how your progress has been.”

Dark looks unfazed at the sudden closeness of the demon. The gesture had been to intimidate, he was sure, and so he offered no reaction other than holding his head higher in response. The other’s skin had a sickly green color, with his form constantly glitching and fuzzing in and out of existence, as though one shove and he would dissipate into dust. But Dark knows better than this. Anti was watching him with a gross smile, sizing him up. “My subject has been… unusually inspired.” Dark begins, his demeanor displaying the very picture of calm. “Immediately upon realizing his situation, he sprung into action. His case requires… a more delicate touch.” 

Anti laughs, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “Well, while you had your little go-getter, mine was doing _terrible_.” He was far more animated in his words than Dark would ever be. His arms were raised, his posture changing with each syllable as though it would pain him to stand still for too long. “It didn’t take much to drown him in despair. It was _easy_. Running him to the ground when he had nothing pushing him back up. And it would have been going even easier had _you not been screwing it up_!”

Dark doesn’t waver. 

Anti takes that moment to point his knife at the demon’s throat. They both know that here, on this plane of existence, the knife meant nothing. It was simply Anti’s accessory as far as he was concerned. He hadn’t even been holding it before it fazed into existence, threatening the monochrome demon with more than what the knife could do. “ _Get a better grip on your task_.” Anti was seething.

“What’s the matter? Are you afraid?” Dark finally speaks, relaxed and serene. The very air stills out of respect and fear for him.

Anti lets out a roar of frustration, throwing his arms up. “ _If you were doing your job, this would be going so much easier!”_ He spits the words as though they were poison. “Don’t you _dare_ pin this on me.”

“You _are_ afraid.”

He’s threatening him with the knife again. If Dark had an outward sense of humor, he might have laughed at the silly gesture. “I’m never afraid.” Anti whispers, his entire form glitching and giving away his stress. “But if you don’t get a grip, this won’t work. Need I remind you what we’re up against here?” 

“You were the one that wanted the fame.” Dark looks him straight in the eye, and Anti visibly grows fuzzy for a moment. Despite his psychotic grin, he looks absolutely furious. “You were the one that wanted to take over two famous humans and… take the stage, so to speak.”

“And you _don’t_?”

“It makes no difference to me who we control.” He says. “But it is far too late to change our minds now.”

Anti pulls back, pacing for a moment. His form glitches back and forth in thought, his limbs moving in crazy gestures as though he were losing his mind. Dark stands completely still, staring as the other demon releases his frustrations to the void. There’s a rumble somewhere far off, and it feels as though the floor beneath them shifts. The action causes Anti to let out a garbled scream, running his fingers through his hair. “We don’t have _time!”_

“Then I suggest we tend to the matter at hand.”

Anti swivels around so fast that Dark expected his head to roll right off his shoulders. He glitches back to the other demon, standing right in front of him with his eyes narrowed. “Their friends will be returning soon.” Dark continues, ignoring the sickly green demon’s stare that is now uncomfortably close to his face. “Let us keep on our path, and all will fall into place.”

“They say there’s a fine line between confidence and _stupidity_.” Anti seethes, backing away from the other.

Dark doesn’t grace him with a response. Instead, he raises his hand and snaps, and the world vanishes into a wisp of smoke.

Jack swallows in a gulp of air, gasping as he wakes up.

The side of his face is pressed into the carpet, and his lungs are screaming as though he hadn’t been breathing for a while. He uses his forearms to prop himself up, and he immediately feels his stomach heave. 

Foreign hands rest on his back and shoulder blades. He jumps, startled. “Jack?” Mark is calling his name. At first, it sounds far away, but then it corrects and Jack feels the world tip. “Are you okay?”

“…’m gonna puke.”

It takes Mark a second to react, but then he’s gone, leaving Jack to hold back his bile to the best of his ability. He pulls himself to his knees, and then, _nope, that was a mistake, I’m really going to throw up, oh-_

Before he’s able, Mark’s hand returns to his back, and his other hand is holding a bucket. He offers it in front of Jack’s face. There’s no hesitation before he grips the blue bucket in his own hands and heaves his airline meal into it.

He hears footsteps farther behind him, and then Tyler’s voice. “Ethan’s back. We’re still waiting on Amy and- What happened?”

Mark sounds like he’s trying to contain stress. “…Jack’s feeling sick.”

Jack can hear a small sound of sympathy, but it sounds like Ethan’s voice. He must have approached behind Tyler.

He throws up again. Mark rubs circles into his back.

The three of them speak over him, but nothing registers to his ears, so he doesn’t bother listening. He feels gross and sick, and he doesn’t remember how he had even got into this position on the floor. Eventually, he feels his stomach begin to settle, and he sits up.

“You okay?”

Jack figures Tyler and Ethan had walked back up the stairs, because he speaks confidently. The Irishman lifts his head, wiping his watery eyes. “What happened?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me.” Mark replies, frowning down at him. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I… saw you come around the corner. And then I was on the floor.”

He nods, as if he were expecting that answer. “Yeah, same here.”

“You passed out too?” 

“It seems so.”

"Are you also feeling sick?" Jack dares to ask.

"A little bit, but not as sick as you seem to be."

Jack is breathing shallow, shrugging off Mark’s hand on his shoulder. Illness wasn’t all he remembered. Flashes run through his mind full of pain, and terror, and _agony_. But nothing gave him the ability to distinguish between a dream and their reality. “Does this have to do with the repeats?” He asks, his voice wavering.

There’s not an immediate reply, but he really wishes there was one. Deep down he wishes that Mark could be the person with all the answers, the one with the knowledge to get them out of this, the one who would pull out some master plan that assured their lives would go back to normal.

But he’s only human. Jack takes that moment to stand up, grabbing the bucket and taking it into the bathroom to clean it. “…Thank you for the bucket.” He says solemnly on his way, trying to settle his nausea. The bathroom splits off the main room, so he walks in, leaving the door wide open as he runs the bucket under the sink.

“Are you still feeling up for the livestream?” Mark asks quietly from the main room.

Jack stills his hands, trying to fight tears. “We don’t have a choice if we ever want to escape.” He turns around and looks Mark right in the eyes, his jaw tensed. His hand rests on the sink knob, and it’s cold to the touch, sending a shiver up his arms. “Of course we’re trying the stream. But I can’t help but feel like it’s all going to be _pointless_.” 

Mark puts a hand to his head as he stands back up, and Jack wonders how truthful is friend is being concerning his health. “We’ll find a way out of this.” Mark says, and he sounds _so sure of himself_ that Jack almost starts crying.

“You don’t know that, Mark.” 

Mark isn’t able to respond. In that moment, Tyler and Ethan walk back down the stairs, and Jack glances up at them. Both of them look concerned and hesitant, walking down the stairs with careful steps, but immediately Ethan smiles when he sees Jack up and about. Jack steps out of the bathroom door. “Hey Jack! You feeling any better?”

He tries to offer a chuckle, but it sounds pained. “I’m okay.” He tries to tell him, ignoring the nausea in his stomach. He approaches Ethan with open arms, offering a hug, and the smaller one obliges in greeting. Jack can’t suppress the small, sad feeling he gets whenever he’s around his American friends. He can only see them once in a blue moon, and on terms like this, he was too stressed out to enjoy their company. “How have you guys been?”

Tyler walks over for a hug next, giving him a gentle pat on the back as he does so. “We’ve been great. We’re excited for the stream today, and it’s awesome that you could make it. We’ll go live once Amy and Kathryn come back.”

“Sounds great.” Jack replies, smiling as best he can. “Glad I could come. I miss being around you goobers.”

But now there’s a weird tension between him and Mark. He’s not sure if it’s frustration, or his friend starting to accept the hopelessness of their predicament, but Jack knows that once the stream starts, all their problems will melt away, even if just for a little while.

Amy and Kathryn arrive not long after, and Jack greets them both warmly. He can’t deny the excitement he’s feeling to be here for a livestream. They’re always fun to watch, and he doesn’t remember ever being personally present in a livestream with Mark before. Besides Cringemas, of course.

Mark is seated on the couch with Tyler and Ethan on each side of him. He’s kicked back, with his arms around the back of the couch on each side. The original plan was for the three of them to kick off the stream for a solid minute or so, and then for Jack to come crashing in, jumping onto the couch on their laps. However, he didn’t know how much his stomach could handle a jump.

“Audio’s good right?” Mark asks, despite them already being live. He gets a thumbs up from Kathryn at the computers, and he launches into a spiel for the stream. Jack knows he’s just buying for time until viewer count climbs to a good enough number.

Minutes pass by. They work out the technical kinks. Jack is off to the side of the room, his arms crossed as he watches them start. They’re already falling into shenanigans, and he has to restrain himself as best he can not to laugh aloud. 

At some point, Mark glances over at him and gives him a thumbs up behind Tyler’s head. Jack takes that opportunity to walk towards them.

Instead of jumping, he walks all the way to the armrest of the couch and stops, letting his body tip over it and land like a plank against his friends’ laps.

All three of them let out grunts of surprise as he collapses onto them, and he grins ear to ear, propping his head up on his hand and smiling at the camera. “How’s it goin’?” He asks, however it wasn’t smooth in the slightest. The shuffling causes him to slip right off of their legs and onto the floor, causing all of them to fall into fits of laughter. He sits back up into camera view, feeling reinvigorated.

He could only imagine how excited the audience must be to see him there. It makes his heart sing. 

His stomach is still tearing up, but he elects to ignore it just for a little bit. He was having fun with his friends today, and he was going to help raise money for charity if it killed him. 

Things go off smoothly. He plops down next to Ethan on the couch and joins in the fun, excusing himself every once in a while to go to the bathroom and steady himself. He doesn’t throw up again, but he does his best to settle his nausea and headache whenever he got the chance. The group had elected to play a game at some point down the line, and Jack was the first to die, so he sits back and pulls out his phone, reading the stream comments as the others goof off.

Most of the audience is pointing out how pale and ill he looks. He had hoped this wouldn’t happen. Ignoring it would just make it worse, but pointing it out would bring too much attention to himself, and he frowns to himself, trying to figure out how to approach this. 

Eventually, he just elects to ignore it. Perhaps the comments would dwindle out the more energetic he acts.

He gets a flash.

Pain, fire, and burning in his head with a sickly green glow, and it’s there and gone in a moment. But it’s enough to spike his nausea, causing his stomach to heave. He leaps off the couch, tripping over Chica and scrambling to get off camera. The others glance at him, startled, but Jack doesn’t get very far before collapses and dry heaves into the carpet, having no food left to throw up. He’s on his hands and knees, still in camera view, and embarrassment like nothing he’s ever felt before washes over him. He sees spots in his eyes, and the world is spinning beneath him.

Stray hands grab him under the arms and hoist him up, helping walk him off camera. It’s Mark, thank goodness, and he helps him into the bathroom.

There are tears in Jack’s eyes. From both sickness, fear, and embarrassment, and they’re already rolling down his cheeks. “Mark…” He stutters out before he falls and heaves again, feeling awful.

Mark just rubs circles into his back, completely and utterly silent. Jack wishes he would say something. He wishes he would speak and assure him that everything was okay, but he says nothing.

Eventually, Jack’s stomach settles once more, and he’s fighting to forget the images that had burst fourth in his mind without any forewarning. He looks up at Mark, his face red and tear-stained, and Mark frowns. “You okay?”

Jack shakes his head.

“Do you want to go back on the stream?”

He shakes his head again.

“Okay. If you want to go upstairs and lay down, make yourself at home. I have crackers and things if you want to try eating- they’re in the pantry. If you start feeling better, you’re free to come back down.” Mark says, and Jack visibly relaxes a little bit. “Do you need help getting up there?”

“I think I’m okay.” Jack speaks, but his voice is hoarse. Mark nods and stands up, letting Jack walk out first with his hand on his stomach. Everyone glances up at him as soon as he comes into view, and he tries his best to give them a weak smile as he walks towards the stairs.

He can just hear Mark’s voice behind him as he leaves. “Sorry guys- Jack hasn’t been feeling very well today. Send him a lot of love, he’s gonna take a break from the stream for a while.”

Jack sighs, retreating up the staircase with hopelessness pulling on his heart.


	9. Chasing that Sun Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up

Jack is sprawled out on the couch, one hand on his stomach. His gaze is trained on the white ceiling, unfocused and unconcerned with the world around him. Like nothing he’s ever, ever experienced in his life, he feels unusually weak and fatigued. On a usual case basis, sickness doesn’t hold him down for long. He could push through, maybe wallow for a day or two, but then get right back on his feet. Pain runs through his veins, and each shuffle or movement causes pins and needles through his muscles. Each cough shakes his body to the core, and all he can think is, _pointless, useless, there’s no escape, we’ll never escape._

_Is this what it feels like to die?_

There’s a clock ticking somewhere down the hall. It’s the only constant assurance that Jack’s still existing on this couch, that none of this is a dream, that he really is stuck in this endless time loop.

Eventually, he checks his phone. There are multiple, multiple missed calls and unread texts from Signe. He feels a drop of regret in his stomach, but when he thinks about the repeat, he decides he shouldn’t care. Because it wouldn’t matter.

But perhaps he should call her just to keep her from calling the authorities.

He checks the clock, putting the phone to his ear while he calculates what time it was back home. His brain was weary, and barely figured to work, but he soon realized that it was way past the time Signe came home home, and she might have already been calling around trying to find him.

When she answers, she sounds terrified. “Sean?!”

“Hey Signe.”

Her response is a string of curses and insults, all in a long sentence that seems to have no end. Jack pulls the phone away from his ear, taking it in a quiet volume, but he can’t say he blames her. If he came home to find her gone without a trace, he’d be worried too.

“Signe, Signe calm down, I’m okay.”

“ _Where are you_? Why aren’t you home? Sean, you can’t just… I’ve been- I’ve been trying to reach you all night! I’ve been calling people to see if- if you’ve- I…” Her voice sounds hoarse and broken. Jack knew that, on a normal circumstance, he’d be more empathetic, and willing to assure her and help her calm down. He’d be able to tell her exactly where he was, and why he wasn’t home, and when he’d be back. 

But there was no explaining this.

Which is why, with a dull emotion, he sighs and rubs at his temple. “Signe, you really just have to trust me on this one. Go to bed, please. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

That definitely catches her off guard. “You’ll see me- Sean, what?! What are you talking about? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine.” _No it’s not._ “Go to bed, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I’m not just going to…” She sniffles, and he can’t help but feel sad at the way she sounds. “You don’t sound like yourself, Sean… please, are you okay?” 

“I’m okay.” _I feel like dying._  

“Please just… tell me where you are.”

He swallows, hating having to lie to her. But he has to. “I’m back home. With my family.”

“You’re… what?”

“I’m at home.”

“But… Why?”

“I wanted to see them.” He says, trying to end the conversation. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Please get some sleep.”

There’s a long pause on the other end. Signe’s voice is audible and ragged, as if she had been sobbing. “You didn’t… Are you sure everything’s okay?”

“Everything is fine. I’ll talk to you all about it tomorrow, okay?”

There’s a long pause, only filled with the sound of her breathing, before she relents. “O-Okay.” Signe whispers, and he can almost hear her heart break. “I… I trust you Sean. Please don’t be afraid to talk to me. About anything. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He hangs up before she can say anything else, draping the phone back over his stomach. There was no talking the next morning. No remembering. She’d forget, just like everyone else. And he’d be back at the beginning once more.

There really is no escaping this.

_Tick, tock, tick, tock…_

Footsteps startle him, but he doesn’t have the energy to flinch or move. He doesn’t turn to see who approaches, but it doesn’t matter, because he hears Mark’s voice just as soon as the footsteps stop. “Jack?”

He hums in response, lacking any bit of energy he had prior.

“Just checking on you. Did you try eating anything?”

Jack shakes his head. Mark walks into his field of vision, resting against the back of the couch and looking down at him. “Mark…” He trails off, catching his gaze.

“Yeah?”

“We’re never going to see tomorrow, are we?”

Mark’s face hardens at that, and Jack wonders if that was the right thing to say. But before he realizes it, Mark looks angry. “We will. We just have to keep trying. You can’t just give up like this.”

Jack pulls himself up into a sitting position, ignoring the way his stomach churns at the movement. His expression tenses, despite the audible slur of his words, and the fatigue in his mannerisms. “Mark, you cannot tell me you’re this dense. I refuse to believe that. Don’t you feel the slightest bit of fear at the idea that we’re going to be stuck like this for the rest of our lives? That there may be _no way out of this_?”

“ _How can you say that_?” Mark seethes, gripping the couch edge. His tone and volume startles Jack, and he blinks in surprise. “I know _full well_ the depth of our situation. I’m trying my best to stay positive here. Y’know, positivity? The thing you always preach about?”

Jack feels a wash of embarrassment. This seemed to be a constant emotion for him these days. He looks down at his feet and hides his gaze away from his friend, gripping the hem of his shirt in self-conscoiusness. Mark falls silent too, releasing a small exhale through his nose and walking around the couch to sit next to him, clasping a hand on his shoulder. Jack feels the weight of his hand, but he can’t bear to look at him. “I know this situation seems hopeless, Sean. I know. But we can’t give up if there’s even the smallest chance that there’s a way out. Can you keep fighting, even if it’s just for my sake? Because I can’t do this without you.”

A sigh. Jack hides his face in his hands and tries to control the overbearing emotions and the nausea building up. 

 _You’ll both try and try and try, and nothing will come to fruition,_ a voice in Jack’s head says to him. He can just recognize it, but has no idea where it derives from. He doesn’t look up. _You’ll be stuck in this endless loop for the rest of your life, and nothing you do can stop it._  

“Okay.” Jack says quietly to his friend, hoping it’ll get Mark off of his case.

Mark seems satisfied with the half-hearted response, but he supposes that’s all he could have hoped for. “Okay. I’m going to head back down. Do you want to come with me?”

He hesitates, finally looking up at his friend. Their gazes lock for a moment, and Jack can just see the weariness in his eyes. But there’s also determination. _I wish I could be that strong._ “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be back down.” He says, ignoring the way his head spins.

Another nod. Mark stands up and pats him on the shoulder, hoping to give him some sort of assurance. He exits the room and heads back downstairs, leaving Jack alone on the couch.

He sits in silence. The clock keeps ticking down the hall.

_Why keep going? There’s nothing you can do._

That voice again. It keeps making an ugly appearance it seems, and he doesn’t have it in him to call out to it, or question it. His vision darkens, and fear grips his chest.

_You’ll keep repeating over, and over, and over, in circles all day long._

There’s no warning for what happens next. Unadulterated terror floods his veins, and suddenly he feels like his limbs are made of ice. Everything that remains in his stomach churns, as if he’s about to throw up again, but this time it just causes his body to flare up in pain. Whatever he had felt when he passed out earlier was resurfacing, twenty times worse, and he had no idea what was going on. It felt like his body was being lit on fire, and nails were being driven into his skin. 

Somehow, he found his way to his feet. The entire world swims in his eyes, tipping and turning in different directions as though he were drowning, and something else is influencing his limbs. Dark spots dance in his vision. He could pull away, he could fight it, but icy horror struck him cold, and he let his feet lead him to the kitchen.

His vision was fading in and out. The next thing he knew, he was standing at the cabinets in the kitchen, his palms pressed into the cold marble.

_You’ll repeat over, and over, and over, and over… and then you’ll die._

Jack feels bile at the back of his throat and he coughs, choking. Something is dripping from his nose, and he sees a red spot appear on the counter beneath him. He can hear a distant chuckle. That was odd. Who was laughing? Jack wanted to turn and look around him, to fight for control, but what was the point? _What was the point of fighting?_

_There isn’t one._

All at once, the pain subsides. Jack is still. He’s standing, shivering violently at the kitchen counter with his body hunched over. He tries to lift his head. 

It doesn’t work.

He tries to blink.

Nothing is obeying him. He’s completely paralyzed.

Eventually, his hand begins to move. But it’s moving on it’s own accord. He has no control over it. He has no command. A scream settles in the back of his throat and he tries to release it, to signal alarm, something, _anything_!

His fingers curl around a knife handle.

No, no, _no, no, what’s happening_?!

He tries again to scream. He can almost hear it in his mind, a far away cry for help. But his body doesn’t obey him. The knife is shaking, showing him _something_ he might be doing, but nothing keeps it from nearing his body. Nearing his throat. He tries his best to move, but he can only manage twitches and shakes.

 _Stop! Stop!_ He begs his body, but it refuses to listen. 

His screams are drowning him in his own mind. His eyes are cold-set, staring unfocused at the cabinets as the blade of the knife presses against his skin. He feels like he’s floating, lost in an endless sea, limp and fragile with bubbles trickling out of his lips. But he also feels like he’s on fire, paralyzed, choking on the smoke, with no way out.

He thinks he blacks out. But he can definitely feel the burning sensation of his throat being torn open by the blade. He can definitely feel the red hot blood that begins to seep down his neck. And he can definitely hear the sound of faraway laughter, slowly approaching like an animal stalking its prey. Jack has never felt so terrified in all of his life.

_Help me!_

And then, his knees buckle.

He hits the ground hard, falling shoulder-first against the tile. He hears a dull thump somewhere far away, and limply, his weight rolls him onto his back. He wonders if he’s dead. He can’t imagine any reason for being alive now. His throat is warm and bubbly, with liquid trickling down the sides of his neck, and he’s not sure if he’s even breathing. But somehow, everything seems okay. His mind relaxes.

Jack’s eyes stare at the ceiling, lost and unfocused.

He blinks, and then he’s no longer in the kitchen.

He’s standing in darkness. His first instinct is to look down, to take in the terror, to process the very fact that his feet are standing on nothing. Perhaps he’s falling. But there’s no wind in his ears, no rush to his senses, and his stomach isn’t tied in knots. He’s standing. _Is this what death feels like?_

Part of him wants to cry out, to scream, to call for his friends to help him, but it feels pointless. 

“That’s right… it’s all hopeless.” A voice says next to him, and Jack whirls around in alarm. There’s a mere shadow next to him, looking like it’s made of dust. It continually fritzes back and forth, as if he were studying it through shattered glass. “All of it, aimless footsteps into death.”

“Where am I?” Jack dares to ask, and it doesn’t even feel like he’s spoken. But his voice is thrown into the abyss, echoing off of nothing. The emptiness is intent on swallowing his words, leaving him breathless.

“You’re at the end of it all.” The other says, and when he turns to face Jack, he slowly begins to shift. A clearer form takes his space, and Jack couldn’t mistake who he was looking at.

It was himself.

Except his eyes were empty and black. 

“Take it all in around you.” The voice says, and it sounds so wrong hearing it out of Jack’s lips. Suddenly, the shadow throws his arm around Jack, catching him off guard, and he pulls him close. The other’s arm raises to point across the distance, just as a flash of blinding light overtakes the void. It’s almost like lightning, though it carries no form, and it lingers far longer. The invisible ground beneath them rumbles and shifts. “This world, this plane of existence… my home. And it’s all collapsing.”

“Collapsing?”

The other smiles, and when he turns to the Irishman, there’s a psychotic grin on his face. “Greetings, Sean McLoughlin. My name is Anti. And I am here to save myself.”

With a sudden burst, Anti is right in front of Jack’s face, startling him backwards. He reels. His feet don’t catch him, and without warning, he’s falling through the invisible floor, screaming at the top of his lungs as the darkness overtakes him. Hopeless. Hopeless. _Hopeless._

Another flash sparks across the void, and all he can see is Anti’s silhouette in shadow, watching him from far above.

Jack’s eyes widen, and suddenly the darkness is gone. He can feel his limbs again. Kitchen fading into focus, he reaches for control. He’s fighting, he’s writhing, he’s struggling with all his might to move, to speak, to _scream_.

He _wails,_ but nothing happens. His throat burns. 

Instead, his body gets up on it’s own. It’s twitching, and shaking, and parts of his motions register, but it only takes a moment to snap back into a different position. He can hear a soft chuckle that sounds like it should be his voice, but it’s slightly garbled, deranged, and crazy. Anti.

“Finally.” He hears his own voice say, and he can’t stop the terror from coursing through his veins. “I am in control.”

Downstairs, Kathryn wonders why the chat is complaining about glitches in the stream.


	10. So Far East I'm Westbound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all the comments you've been leaving on my story, and thank you for the kudos as well! I've been having a blast writing this story and I have no plans on stopping until it's over. Y'all are awesome and I appreciate every one of you, and I hope you enjoy this story throughout the last few chapters. Thanks guys!

Jack doesn’t know what’s going on.

That’s the simple fact of the matter. No part of him wants to process what’s happening, or why he can’t control his body, or who this _Anti_ is, or how he’s walking painlessly after his throat had been torn open, or why the knife- caked with blood- was still grasped firmly in his hand.

It’s almost like watching a movie. Jack has no sway to the situation, save for a few hiccups in his limbs if he really tries, but it exerts so much energy that it’s easily and swiftly running him down.

He tries screaming. If not to gain attention, then to disorient the one in control of him. And when his body pivots sideways and knocks into a counter, he feels a swell of surprise that it had actually worked. 

“Stop it!” His own voice cries out aloud, and Jack instantly wonders if Anti’s response had gained the attention of the others downstairs. “Lay down and give up, or I will force you myself!”

But Jack keeps screaming within his own head, attempting mental attacks and shoves, and sending signals to his legs to obey him instead. A new reason to fight had surfaced, and he was clinging to it with all of his might. It’s an odd sensation, what his mind is doing to his uncontrollable body, and he tries to push away the burning terror in his chest to focus on taking the reigns.

“I said _stop it!”_ Anti roars back, sounding like a wounded animal, slamming a hand onto the couch to steady himself.

Lacking all eloquence, he swings open the door to go downstairs, moving swiftly as though he were running out of time. Jack is getting disoriented and very confused as to why he was going to approach everyone else, and he reaches into the depths of the other’s mind to try and find an answer. 

But there’s no time. Because as soon as he steps into the downstairs room, all eyes turn on him.

“What happened?” Mark blurts out as soon as his eyes fall onto his neck, jumping off of the couch to approach him off the camera. His hand is outstretched towards him, concern written all over his face.

Jack _screams._

But Anti screams _louder_.

He may have spoken a word, or a phrase, but Jack couldn’t hear it. Suddenly, there’s a rush of energy all around the room, flooding it with it’s thick scent. Mark is sent reeling backwards, a look of surprise on his face, but the others behind him don’t move at all. In fact, they’re completely frozen. There seems to be a different color absorbing the area now, and an unmistakable aura that reeks of despair hangs over them like a death sentence.

Mark lands on his rear, his head snapping up to the other with wide eyes. He’s the only one, apart from Anti, moving in the entire room. He looks speechless. His gaze watches Jack for a few small seconds before he whirls around, glancing behind him at the frozen bodies of his team.

Anti steps forward, and Jack has fallen completely silent at this point, too stunned to understand what was happening. He tries to fight the hand that reaches towards his friend, but it has a new strength that he can’t match, and it grabs Mark by the collar of his shirt and pulls him forward. Immediately, he has his attention. “Well, _look who it is_.” Anti seethes, grinning psychotically with Jack’s face. 

 _Mark!_ Jack is trying to push against Anti’s mind, but he’s too afraid. He’s locked in complete fear. Any semblance of hope he had had begins to melt away, and all he can do is watch as his friend stares back into his eyes, looking absolutely terrified.

“Jack…?” His voice is a mere breath.

“Guess again.” He points the bloody knife right at his throat with his other hand, and Jack feels every nerve in his body grow cold.

Just as suddenly as his entrance had been, there’s a loud ringing noise filling the room. Mark’s hands immediately clasp over his ears, attempting to shield himself away from it, and Jack is mentally reeling from it too. It’s loud and disorienting, and the world is swimming before his eyes with nausea building at the base of Jack’s stomach. Anti is confident. 

Along with the ring comes a new feeling. The atmosphere changes to something Jack can’t describe, and when Anti lets go of Mark’s shirt, he collapses forward, curling in on himself as though he were in pain. “Stop, stop! Please!” He cries out, tears pricking at his eyes and ragged breaths escaping his throat. “ _Please stop_!”

“Give up!” Anti screeches, and it sounds demonic. But then he’s grinning, throwing both of his hands into the air with a gleeful giggle. “ _Time to rise and shine, Dark!”_

The lights flicker. The air grows thicker with the scent of death and hopelessness. Mark screams at the top of his lungs, but it’s drowned out by the ringing sensation. Jack wants so badly to cover his own ears, almost positive that it’s going to burst his ear drums, but he can’t find it within himself to fight for the control. It’s a battle he’s quickly losing, and there are dark spots in his vision, quickly losing his presence in his own mind.

All he can do is watch as Mark is suddenly crawling away from them, his face red with tears rolling down his cheeks. Anti approaches him slowly, intensifying the air, but Mark reaches out, fishing his hand behind a large, unplugged microphone and chucking it their direction.

Unprepared and unbalanced, Anti wasn’t ready to dodge the heavy projectile coming right at him. It hits him square in the stomach, sending him to his knees with a string of pained curses, and Jack feels it too, scrambling inwardly as all the air is driven from his lungs. The ringing, Jack realizes, had grown weak, and Mark is attempting to make a run for it.

Anti grabs him by the pants’ leg as he brushes past, causing him to tumble forward into the carpet. Mark is trying desperately to get away, kicking and clawing at the floor for grip, but Anti grabs him and turns him onto his back, rising to dig a knee into his chest and pin him down.

“Let’s try that _again_.” Anti says, his voice losing any shred of humanity Jack might have once heard.

In his hand, he feels Anti tighten his grip on the knife. 

“No more hesitation. No more waiting. It’s time to be freed from the abyss!” Anti calls out, and then Jack can only watch, horrified, as he raises the hand with the knife.

He plunges it right into Mark’s chest.

There’s a look on Mark’s face as though he had been startled. He had stopped struggling, and he had stopped moving, but his eyes were wide, staring into Jack’s with pure and uncontained fear. It was unlike anything he had ever seen in his life, and he could only watch dumbly as his friend’s eyes flicker and widen, his jaw half open. Anti’s gaze refuses to pull away from his own, and Jack can’t fight it, forced to watch his friend’s world crash all around him.

And then Anti pulls out the knife, spattering blood across the carpet.

Jack _screams_.

The sensation was powerful. He could hear Anti both out loud and within his own mind, reeling from the mental shove. “Stop it!” Anti yells angrily, clearly unprepared for the sudden attack on his mind. Jack harnesses the newfound strength granted to him and he continues fighting for the reigns, his mind beginning to split from the intensity.

_Mark!_

He hears another voice crying out in pain, but he knows it’s not his own. He can hear Anti somewhere far beyond, struggling to maintain control, but as soon as Jack commands his hand to _move_ , it obeys. It’s slow, and his paralyzed body is fighting him, but Jack has nothing but determination to reach his friend.

A ragged breath escapes him as the presence in his body dissipates, and there’s an aura of peace hanging over him so suddenly he feels whiplashed. He pants for breath, but doesn’t stop to rest. There’s no time. There’s no _time_.

He rips off his hoodie, pressing it into Mark’s chest to stop the bleeding. Jack is dimly aware of the other people in the room, still frozen and unmoving, but that isn’t his concern. He needs to call an ambulance. He needs… Mark’s eyes are half lidded, and Jack feels hot tears streaming down his face, with a burning in his neck so painful he sees spots. He coughs through his sobs. “Mark, Mark, come on, stay with me. I- I don’t know- I don’t know what to do…” He can barely speak, his voice coming out hoarse or completely silent, but it doesn’t matter, because Mark isn’t reacting. _Mark isn’t waking up_.

And then he does.

There’s a flutter to his lashes, and Jack, filled to the brim with relief, is begging him to hold on, to wake up, to stay with him. Mark looks up at him, and Jack, for the tiniest of moments, feels hope. _He’ll be okay. He’s going to be okay. Everything will be okay._  

Mark’s eyes turn completely black.

There’s a moment where Jack seriously wonders where things went wrong. A mere second in his frozen mind where he wonders how he came to be in this predicament, and if it was even real, or a very elaborate dream. He decides it doesn’t matter right now, because suddenly Mark’s hand grabs his throat, squeezing with incredible strength, and Jack can’t breathe.

Jack’s hands immediately release the pressure on the wound, and instead they fish upwards to pull at the fingers pressing down on his neck. His wound is on _fire,_ and the world is already swimming before his very eyes. Air refuses to travel through his already battered lungs, and he feels a sense of despair so powerful he thought that alone would bring him to his end.

It doesn’t take long for him to black out. He isn’t conscious long enough to feel his body hit the carpet.


	11. Feeling like the Edge of this World is Near

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slower chapter this time- I'm glad you guys are enjoying the story and I'm so thankful for the comments you guys have been leaving! Seriously, they mean the world to me. Thank you!

He has a splitting headache when he wakes up.

Jack is laying on something soft and warm. He tries to open his eyes, but they simply refuse, remaining shut. He figures at this point he should have expected it, but it still startles him nonetheless, and sends him into a minor panic that he has to fight to control. Instead, they flutter open moments later without his permission, and a groan escapes his lips. It’s unmistakably Anti.

His eyes focus onto the same ceiling he’d been studying earlier, and the couch beneath him feels the same. When Anti turns his head, he spots Mark sitting across the room. Except his eyes are lifeless and black, staring back with a new level of confidence. “Anti.”

“Dark. You got out.” Anti says, and suddenly he’s grinning, sitting up. The rush of the sudden motion makes Jack feel a rush in his stomach, but it barely seems to affect the other, for he doesn’t even pause his train of thought. “And the abyss? Has it collapsed?”

“It is still standing.” He says with Mark’s voice, but much like Anti’s, it sounds different. Slightly like Mark but also very wrong. Every syllable sends a pang of fear through him, and he immediately can tell it isn’t his friend behind those eyes. “Surprisingly.”

“Is Earth still frozen?” 

“Yes.”

Jack wasn’t ready for the expression Anti makes after that. He’s too confused to keep up anyway. “You _idiot_! You’re using too much energy holding time still this long!”

“I didn’t exactly have much a choice, now did I?” He retorts, still with an aura of calm. “Perhaps we made an error in our haste. There is still time for the abyss to hold us; rushing into the hosts like this could prove detrimental to our-”

“Don’t speak of that now.” Anti cuts him off, “We still have ears listening.”

“Which is exactly my point.” Dark replies, sounding a bit more strained. “Had we waited until our hosts were more primed, they would have been gone as soon as we entered.”

“A couple of voices in your head never hurt for a while.” Anti replies, laughing. “What’s the matter? Still sour you picked a difficult human?”

“I am frustrated that _you_ pointed this soul out to me, yes.” Dark says, and Jack takes a moment to wonder how much energy the other is using right now. He looks tired, and his body is hunched over with his elbows on his knees. Jack can just pick up on Anti’s deteriorating thoughts on the matter, and it gives away the fact that the man across the room was weakened. _Is Mark in there fighting? Should I be fighting as well?_

_Would it even work now?_

“It’s no matter what has already been done.” Anti responds, feeling less than sympathetic for Dark. “It will take some adjustments, but soon the _pests_ will be gone. You’ll enjoy your rich LA bliss, and perhaps I’ll move out here as well. With so many options, I’ll have to ponder them all.” He sounds so giddy, and it’s causing a boil of frustration in Jack’s chest.

“Perhaps it is necessary for one more reset.”

Jack can almost physically feel Anti’s stomach drop with anger. “Excuse me?”

Dark doesn’t look perturbed by the response. “Too much uncertainty has happened today. Starting fresh ensures we don’t run into any premature hiccups.” 

“That’s where excuses come in handy.” Anti says, grinning. “His friends are already putting up with his random appearance in America. Other friends hadn’t interacted with them today. Sure, there may not be videos on time tomorrow, but by then, I’ll make one that just says I quit. I’ll live my famous life doing whatever I want with an audience that’ll put up with anything I do and say.”

 _That’s not how the internet works._ Jack finally pipes in to the conversation, but he’s ignored.

“Have you considered his girlfriend in all of this?” Dark cuts in.

There’s a burst of laughter that erupts from his throat, and Jack winces painfully. He can still feel the sting of it, but it has dampened with time, and Jack wonders what that could mean for him. If he really was going to fade away, as Anti says. “I’m just going to break up with her. There’s no reason to get all uppity about that one.”

“But consider that your host has promised to see her first thing in the morning. And you will have to take a fourteen-hour flight back. She will wake up without him and wonder, and ponder, and question. If we do one last reset, it will be easy, and you’ll be back in their home without any worries or suspicions.”

A long moment of silence follows, and Jack is finding himself losing focus.

_Why is this happening to me?_

When Anti speaks again, he’s seething through his teeth. “Just let the girl think I’m cheating on her. We can’t afford the luxury of that reset energy. We stick with the first plan. I should hope you’re as good of a liar as you are a _pain_.”

Dark makes no response to this. Anti jumps to his feet, brushing his hands together and putting them on his hips. “I Guess I should go book a flight. And then we’re off to our lives of paradise.” He turns around, heading towards where Jack had left his backpack on a kitchen chair. “Y’know Dark, you should keep doing videos. I bet you’d make some pretty entertaining ones." 

The lack of emotion in Dark’s face makes Anti laugh again, and he exits the room, off to make plans. Had Jack been in the mood, he might have laughed at the other’s expression as well.

Jack takes a mental back seat at this point. He feels completely drained, his mind stretching in a thousand different directions. Anti is trying to figure out how to book a flight, and Jack just watches, numb to it all. A distant part of him, one that seems so far away now, wants to point out his mistakes and problems, and teach him how. But he has no sympathy for the person that stole his freedom.

_Can’t help but notice your silence. Are you still alive back there?_

Jack can’t quite pick up on the tone of his voice. If it was snarky, or just a genuine question, he couldn’t tell. And for a moment, he wonders if he should even answer, but his thoughts would give him away anyway. _I’m just thinking about how no one would believe you were me._

Anti doesn’t falter. _I can fake other personalities easier than you’d think._

 _But that’s not the point._ Jack tries for a moment to reach out for control, but nothing happens. Anti has a stronger grip on his body than before, and it only causes Jack to sink further in defeat.

He continues speaking, feeling at a loss for energy. _No one would believe you if you said you were quitting YouTube, or breaking up with Signe. Especially if Mark puts up the same type of video at the same time. They’ll think it’s a bit, or they’ll think we’re being forced._

 _Then they’ll be sorely disappointed._ Anti manages to purchase a plane ticket, and a swell of success rushes through his chest. Jack sighs, deeming this conversation useless, and mentally tucks himself away, hoping to gain some sort of energy and a recharge. It feels as though he were made of dust, slipping through his fingers with each second passing.

When the world is reset back in place, Dark and Anti choreograph a resume with the others. Dark has planted himself on the couch in the streaming room when they continued, and it startled Jack how much he could assume Mark’s personality and voice at will. It was almost terrifying. That should be Mark there. It is Mark. _But it’s not._

Eventually, Dark tells the rest of the team he’s going to drive Jack back to the airport to go home. Jack sighs inwardly from where Anti is listening on the stairwell, hiding his cut. It was an incredibly lame excuse, considering the fact that he had just gotten there, and getting on a plane with an illness was a terrible idea due to air pressure. He’s disappointed at how easily the others just go with it, and for once, he curses their go-with-the-flow nature. It was going to cause him and Mark their deaths.

But then again, what could they have done to help?

There are several things that Jack knows, without a doubt, that if he had the mood for it, he’d be laughing hysterically at. Because watching Dark and Anti try to work a car for the first time was pretty entertaining. Jack only wished he could witness it in a better circumstance, because Dark was trying to drive, and Anti was shouting orders, trying to tell him how without really knowing himself. 

A nagging part of Jack’s brain wanted so badly to tell them how to do it. When Anti tugged open the glove compartment and fished for the driver’s manual, trying to help Dark figure it out like an old married couple, Jack couldn’t hold it back. An odd, unwarranted laugh erupted somewhere far away, and it sounded like his own voice. It only lasted in a short burst, but it was enough to spike anger in Anti’s chest. “ _Shut up back there!”_ The demon yells out loud, causing Dark’s attention to turn over to him.

But Jack can’t stop laughing. He isn’t aware of what overcame him, or why his situation suddenly became the funniest thing he’s ever experienced, but he can physically feel himself begin to grow short-breathed and hysterical. It takes him several long seconds to realize that his laughing is coming out of his own lips, and his arms, which would instinctually wrap around his stomach, obey him. 

And the laughing. It continues in full force. It goes, and goes, and he feels his cheeks burn from his grin, and his eyes see spots, and he can hear Dark’s voice far away as it speaks a simple word. “Anti?” 

“I-I can’t breathe!” Jack cries out between gasps, and it’s audible, but it’s mixed with Anti’s own voice. It’s an odd and mangled warp of the two, and suddenly Jack’s laughter washes away into fear, terrified of what was happening to him. He could curl his fingers, and his face continues to contort with his breathless laughs, and if he tried he could just-

Something strikes him in the cheek and it sends Jack’s consciousness reeling backwards. He’s tumbling through space, falling in darkness, lost and confused and unbalanced with an endless pit beneath him. He doesn’t find this funny anymore. Just as swiftly as he was knocked apart, he snaps back into place, watching as the dashboard of Mark’s car focuses into vision.

His fingers, without his permission, are caressing his cheek where Dark had slapped him. Dark lowers his hand, his face hard and tense as he sits himself back into the seat, staring intently at the other as though expecting a response.

Anti’s mood has been soured. Jack can feel it- an intense wave of hostility and aggression radiating from the other entity at the stunt that had just taken place. There’s also a hint of embarrassment, and Jack falls completely silent, worried that he just made his situation worse. “Just drive.” Anti mutters, his eyes staring straight forward and avoiding the other’s gaze. Dark says nothing as he works through the difficulty, managing to pull the car backwards out of the driveway.

Jack _really_ wants to talk to Mark.

While Anti wraps a scarf around his neck to hide the neck wound, Jack shuts out his mental awareness for a while because it’s becoming a strain to pay attention. Jack kind of wishes Anti were driving so that he could try to disorient him, and perhaps their car would go haywire and crash, waking him up from this nightmare.

Even if he wasn't dreaming, a crash would hopefully end this madness if they go fast enough.

Jack can’t find it within himself to be startled by his own dark thoughts anymore. He can’t find himself to care. Once they reach the airport, Jack is very tempted to give up, letting his mental strength dwindle quicker and free him from his torment faster. From what the others say, they don't have long to live, and Jack doesn't know how much he can handle watching his life slowly crumble before his eyes.  _Sorry Mark. I’m not as strong as you are._

But there’s one lingering thought that keeps him in place. One simple idea.

He can’t go anywhere without being recognized by fans.

And Anti and Dark were about to walk right through a mob.


	12. But You'll Feel Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys again for everything, y'all are the greatest.

They were recognized twice before they even entered the airport.

Dark had agreed to go with Anti until security check-in, just so they could debrief each other for a little while longer. But it seemed like every step inwards, Dark looked a little more like he regretted coming. When the two girls who had recognized them in the parking lot had approached, Anti had surprisingly struggled to slip into Jack’s persona. 

He knew the girls were suspicious of something immediately, because instead of being over-friendly and smiling as Jack always would, Anti shook their hands with minimal enthusiasm, avoided a hug, and then left without an excuse, and without taking a picture.

Jack says nothing. He wonders if Anti was really going to bank on treating his fans like that, because if he was, it was going to get noticed. And fast. As much as it pained him to watch the other smear his name, Jack wasn’t about to correct him, because part of him was going to rely on this, and it may be the very thing that saves him.

To say he had a plan was a little overenthusiastic. He had a general direction, but a lot of it would rely on figuring it out as he went. As they walked through the crowded mob of the airport, Anti and Dark exchanged little conversation. Every once in a while, they’d make a note about their schedule, or what they should expect. But otherwise, they were quiet and concentrating.

They were stopped three more times. Each time, Anti grew less and less patient, if he even had any patience to begin with. Jack couldn’t help but feel bad each time he walked away from a fan with a half-enthused greeting. That was probably their one chance to meet him. To meet their hero. And Jack could only imagine the kind of mental slap each person felt when Anti walked away.

Jack was holding a breath, trying to work out his options.

They’re walking down the main hallways of the airport, straight towards the giant clock at the opposite wall. Anti and Dark were preoccupied with small conversation, but Jack was fixated on the display ahead, and for only one reason. The clock read 9:29, and the second hand was ticking closer and closer to the twelve mark.

He couldn’t look away. It was only in the corner of Anti’s vision, but it was unmistakable when the clock reached 9:30 PM and continued on it’s route around the circle, unbothered with the world’s affairs. Mark's time zone meant the reset happened at 9:30.

Time continued. The loop had broken.

Instead of feeling utter relief and joy, as Jack has assumed he’d feel when this moment came, he felt despair. It caved into his chest and brought him lower, feeling farther away and detached from his body.

_“I know this situation seems hopeless, Sean. I know. But we can’t give up if there’s even the smallest chance that there’s a way out. Can you keep fighting, even if it’s just for my sake? Because I can’t do this without you.”_

_“Okay.”_

Maybe he hadn’t meant it when he said it, but Mark was right. He had to stay strong.

At one point, Dark stops all together, tightening his hand into a fist and leaning it against the wall, breathing hard through his nose. His other hand presses against the temple of his head, rubbing his temple, and Jack watches with surprise.

“Dark.” Anti says once, turning to look at him.

He screws his eyes shut, looking like he’s in pain. _Are you fighting in there, Mark?_

Jack, for the past few hours, had been questioning whether Mark was even still alive in there or not. Dark had been calm and composed the entire duration of their trip, and with each second, Jack had begun to lose hope that he remained. Yet now, here he was, relying on a wall for support and cradling his head.

_It has to be Mark._

“Keep moving.” Dark finally mutters through clenched teeth. “Security is up ahead.” 

Anti nods once, and then he turns away without looking back.

 _No!_ Jack is suddenly scrambling. Anti was about to leave Mark behind, and Jack wouldn’t be able to do anything to help him then. The thought alone was making him panic, and his idea needed to go into action, _now._

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

“Jack? Jacksepticeye?” A girl’s voice had called out, and she walks towards him, eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. She held the hand of a younger boy, probably her brother, and he looked starstruck at the sight of him. Anti stopped, trying to find the fastest way around them, looking bothered.

There was very little time to waste, and he knew that whatever he was going to do, it had to happen within the next two seconds. Jack took that moment to conjure up every shred of energy he had left, and though it wasn’t much, it had to be enough. He gives a mental _shove_ against Anti’s consciousness, sending him into a dizzy spell _._ As soon as Jack could feel that momentary confusion, he releases a high-pitched scream, trying one more time to disorient the other.

It had worked before, it had to work now.

While it didn’t bring the same damage as before, Anti was still thrown off balance, nearly toppling over. He takes a couple steps sideways towards the wall and slams his arm against it, panting for breath while trying to fight the world that spins in his vision. He tries to speak, to say something, but it comes out garbled. He presses his lips together to hold back the bile that creeps up his throat, and Jack feels every bit of the pain as he does, struggling just to stay conscious.

“Jack? Are you okay?” The fan asks as she approaches, looking very concerned. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen, and she reached out a hand as though trying to figure out what to do, with her brother staring intently with confusion.

Several steps behind her, another young boy had recognized the green-haired Youtuber as well. Now he was running towards them, and suddenly the commotion had drawn the attention of everyone else passing by. Few stopped to watch, curious, and they expressed concerns. Jack wondered if this would work in his favor or not, but didn’t have time to stop and think about it. He keeps summoning as much energy as he possibly can, inflicting pain and fighting to control his hands again.

“ _Piss off_!” He suddenly roars, baring his teeth. Nothing determines whether he was speaking to the Irishman in his head, or the thick crowd gathering around him, but Jack keeps it up, trying to inflict as much damage and confusion as he possibly can. It was a struggle, especially as each rush of energy pushed him to his breaking point, but he could do this. _I can do this._

The world is tipping, and the outburst had startled the small group of people. A string of pained curses leave Anti’s mouth as he tries to get the others to leave him alone. “I said piss _off_! Get back and mind your own _business_!” He spits angrily, but no one continues to move. In fact, Jack watches as one retreats to find security, and he can feel Anti’s panic now, because things were certainly not working out right now in terms of laying low. This was a commotion without an excuse.

Something tickles his nose, and it takes Jack several seconds to notice the blood stain on his shirt when he looks down. His nose is bleeding. _It’s working._

Stress seemed to be Jack’s answer. Stress and disorientation. They seemed to be the only way to take his body back over, and although it took a lot of energy that Jack just didn’t have, choosing a moment when the other would be in potential anger and frustration was the key. And it seemed to be working, because his skin begins to tingle and twitch. 

His fingers curl.

This time he doesn’t hear Anti’s depleting voice as he fights for the reigns, and despite the many, many pairs of eyes on him now, he feels himself swelling with accomplishment and adrenaline as he raises his head up, fighting the dizzy spell his head spins under. He can still feel something grabbing at his bones, trying to move him like a puppet, but he can feel a swell of strength beneath his skin, following his commands, and he feels _alive._

It doesn’t last long, because the very next thing he feels is a burning sensation in his neck.

Oh yeah, the knife wound. The one Anti never bandaged, stitched, or cleaned. It was still there, still carved against his skin with so much ferocity that Jack was startled he hadn’t died on the spot from it. It seems like he still may, though, as black fireworks dance in his vision, and he feels nausea bubbling in his stomach. He leans back against the wall, drawing in ragged and broken gasps for air and fighting for consciousness.

The forming crowd was several paces away, looking too terrified to approach now. A few others had gone in different directions to either avoid the problem all together, or alert a guard. He could see one approaching from down the hall now. Jack couldn’t say he blamed them for being worried. But it didn’t matter anymore, because now all he had to do was get to Mark before a guard stopped him.

He pivots on his foot and makes a bee-line back the way he came, ignoring the shouts of everyone behind him. He hoped Dark hadn’t gone far. It was a challenge juggling his control and balance, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he had before Anti would make another grab for the reigns, so he had to move fast.

He sees Dark in the distance. He can also hear guards shouting after him, and he picks up speed, fighting the spots in his eyes and the urge to throw up. Dark has his back to the other, walking through the crowd hunched over with a hood up.

Jack leaps, tackling him to the ground.

Dark doesn’t make a sound of surprise- but Jack does hear the air drive out of him once he lands stomach-first on the floor. Jack tries to bend his arms behind his back, but he’s fighting, inflicting lazy blows in an attempt to wiggle free. He lets out a snarl and tries to throw him off, but he narrows his eyes angrily at the approaching guards and uses precious seconds to figure out what to do about his predicament.

Jack uses that moment to slip an arm around Dark’s neck, and he pulls him up to his knees, fighting both him and Anti’s strings of control that seem to be creeping back in. There’s no time!

 _“Let Mark out!”_ Jack yells in his ear, pulling his arm tight around his throat. But his words are barely audible, sounding garbled and breathless. And each syllable brought burning pain to his throat. Dark scrambles, clawing at his arm and snarling angrily, but Jack takes a moment to really wonder if this was going to work. After all, Anti walked around almost effortlessly with a throat wound, and all Jack was doing was choking him.

Dark says nothing. Jack wonders if he’s just biding for time, waiting for Anti to take back over. But he has to know there’s no getting out of this situation, because everyone is watching them, the guards are trying to find a way in to pull them apart, and the fans that had approached from earlier are staring, deer-eyed, at the encounter.

A guard tries to run at them, but Jack snaps his head up, forcing audible words out of his mouth. Part of him knows that saying this would be a horrible idea in any other circumstance, but he had no other options. He’d knew he’d rather be in jail than be dead and have a demon live his life. “I have a gun! Get back!” 

That stops the security in their tracks, and another guard speaks into a radio. This wasn’t working. He pulls at Dark’s throat again, hissing in his ear. “Let Mark out! _Now_!”

Suddenly, Dark is choking, gasping for air. He pulls at Jack’s arm instead of clawing, and he wrestles to speak through the constraint against his throat. His voice is hoarse when he speaks. “Jack! Let go! Jack, it’s me! It’s Mark, let me go! I can’t- I can’t breathe!”

The cry had immediately caught Jack’s attention, and he loosens his grip, feeling relief wash over him. “Mark?”

Not even a second after Jack’s grip slackened, Dark whirls around and elbows him in the face, sending him to the floor in his weakened state. Dark stands up, his eyes shining black, and he plants a foot on the side of Jack’s face to hold him down. Jack raises his fists, trying to hit Dark’s leg, but he was out of reach to inflict any real pain. Anger rushes through his veins at the trick, and Jack cries out in frustration, trying to free himself with wailing akin to a wounded animal. His neck cut was bleeding again, and it seeps through the scarf and onto the floor. And Anti is fighting for control once more, tickling his nerves and grabbing at his limbs. _No!_

Immediately, with the threat down, the guards had begun to approach again, and Dark’s head whips up in alarm.

There’s an entire four seconds where the world is in mass chaos. Jack is pinned to the floor by one of his good friends, bleeding out, and enduring the last few seconds of his existence in complete agony. Guards are closing in, and fans are watching. He never thought his end would come like this.

And then the world changes. He’s no longer being pinned on the floor- he’s laying on Mark’s couch, staring at the ceiling. Dark is sitting opposite in the room, and as soon as Jack sits up, Dark growls, making a jump at him.

All he can feel is terror as this deranged version of his friend leaps at him, and he rolls off of the couch, ducking beneath the other. He scrambles to get his feet under him and makes a bee-line down the hall of Mark’s house. He rips open the door to go downstairs, and he can faintly hear Dark behind him yell, “ _Stop_!”

It was that very moment that Jack knew what he had to do.

Keep causing a scene, and keep making Dark use his reset energy.

Run him down.


	13. When You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for sticking with me! Sorry for delays and such, but I hope you enjoy this chapter, and the next one will be the final chapter! So stay tuned, and thank you for reading!

Jack has never felt so terrified in his entire life.

He’s bounding down the steps, trying to outrun the footsteps of his demon-possessed friend. He rips open the door to go downstairs so fast he thought it would snap right off the hinges, and he takes three steps at a time, tripping at the bottom and falling onto his hands and knees, lacking all eloquence. Ignoring the buzz of fresh carpet burn, he rips off his scarf and rises just in time to see Mark’s team look up.

He hadn’t been too sure what part of the timeline Dark had dumped them in, but it seemed like it was near the end of the livestream. Their heads snapped up at the sight of him, and without thinking, he blurts out in a croaky voice, “There’s a burglar in the house! He stabbed me in the throat!” He rips off his scarf and walks directly into camera view of the stream. “Run! We need to run!”

And then, before anyone in the room could even process what he had just said, he reaches out and shoves over the camera and tri-pod, letting it fall onto a laptop and break the keyboard. Everyone else jumps in alarm, unprepared for the sudden outburst. “Jack- Jack what are you doing?” Kathryn had managed to say above the confused noises of Ethan and Tyler.

Whirling around just in time to see Dark come down the stairs, he can tell the other looks pale. He tries slipping into Mark’s persona, and he puts concern on his face, holding his hands up. “Jack! Stop!” He says, nearing him. “What are you doing?”

 _It needs to be more intense._ Jack swallows, grabbing the unplugged microphone and holding it up. “Sorry Tyler!” He says under his breath, chucking it full-force at his face. He hears the collision and the other’s surprised cry, his hands reaching up to cradle his nose. A gash of blood appears there, and instinctually, Jack feels guilty.

He did feel terrible for doing this. Especially to good friends who had done nothing wrong, and to such expensive equipment. 

“Reset it, Dark!” Jack yells, fighting the mental hands attempting to take control again. _Not a chance, Anti!_ “Reset!”

“Jack, I have no idea what you’re talking about…” Dark tries to say, still in Mark’s voice, but Jack reaches out and tears apart the buttons of his shirt, revealing the knife wound Anti had inflicted. It looked terrible at this point.

“The burglar got you too! You’re delusional! Amy, call an ambulance! Call the police!”

His heart is thundering in his ears. Shame makes his ears hot, but it would be worth it. This was his only chance at freedom. He looks over and sees Tyler’s nose, bleeding from the projectile, and the others look horrified at the situation on Mark and Jack, and the destruction the Irishman had been bringing to their room. 

There’s no backtracking from this, and Dark knows it.

The world shifts. 

Jack is no longer standing in the streaming room downstairs. Now, he was lying on the kitchen floor with blood seeping out of his throat, his limbs numb and frozen. The ground is cold, and the pain he had been feeling intensifies tenfold, and it’s almost unbearable. _This feels familiar._ The knife cut was fresh and clean, and it burns without restraint with every gasp of air.

He feels it. The familiar creep of Anti’s consciousness climbing into his body, grasping for the reigns, and Jack feels the last of his energy depleting. _No! Not yet! Not like this!_

Dark appears moments later, his footsteps vibrating the kitchen tile beneath Jack’s head. The Irishman gasps for air, struggling to maintain control. He tries screaming. Something, _anything_ to alert the others downstairs and cause a scene. It has to work. It has to. _It has to._  

Dark’s black eyes bore into his own gaze, standing over him and looking like he has something to say. But then, without warning, Dark’s head is in his hands, and he’s grunting and spitting as though he were in pain. A string of frustrated curses are muttered under his lips, and Jack hopes with every fiber of his being that Mark was about to break through.

There’s another shift, and this time Jack wasn’t ready for it. But the pain, the bubbling blood in his throat, it’s gone. He’s laying on his back, eyes wide, staring into darkness. To have jumped from reality to reality, over and over, he begins losing track of what was real. His mind is clouded, and he feels far away, floating somewhere in space.

 _Am I dead?_ He wants to ask, and it certainly feels that way. He doesn’t feel pain. He doesn’t feel despair. He just feels silence.

But when he finally forces himself to process his situation and open his eyes, he knows exactly where he is.

The Abyss.

Everything had been moving so fast. One moment to the next, a blur of energy, a rush of adrenaline. But now, Jack was stagnant. Serene. He was almost whiplashed from the abrupt end to the chaos, and he was in peace. 

He sits up, and he takes in the air around him. A bright flash erupts somewhere far away, and the ground feels unstable and broken beneath him when it rumbles. This place had felt fragile the last time he had stood here, but now, it seemed to have worsened. He felt a rush of wind against his face, and shadows dance in his vision, but all is silent.

A heavy strike hits him in the head, sending him reeling forward. He falls to his knees, and when his hands hit the ground, the floor cracks beneath them. He scrambles backwards, pulling away from the dangerous spot. Jack tries to turn around, to see who attacked him and get away, but as he does, he feels another strike in his face, sending him whirling sideways.

“You’re ruining _everything_!” He hears Anti screaming. It sounds like it’s coming from every direction, echoing against the invisible walls of the void. Jack doesn’t know what to do other than try to sit up, but as he does, Anti grabs him by the throat and holds him up above his head, letting Jack’s feet dangle beneath him. “Just lay down and _give up_! _Nothing you do can stop me_!”

Jack sucks in a breath and kicks at Anti, sending him stumbling backwards. He gets dropped harshly against the breaking floor, feeling it spider-web beneath his body and threaten to give way. He struggles to get his feet under him and pushes off, trying to run out of danger’s way.

Anti appears at that very moment, pushing him back onto the unstable spot. It splinters under him, and Jack pants for breath, struggling beneath Anti’s weight. “Move! Or you’re going to fall with me!” Jack spits out, hoping it would persuade the other to free him from the imminent danger.

“The only one who will be falling is _you_!” Anti turns him over onto his stomach, forcing him to face the eternal darkness beneath the two of them. He folds his arms behind his back and presses his knee into his spine, pushing him against the shattering floor. “You see _that_?” Anti asks, but Jack isn’t quite sure what he refers to. All he sees is black. “That is death. It is within reaching distance. This plane continually sinks into it. It continually breaks and sucks up the last of one’s life. It is painful, and agonizing, and slow. And _you_.” He presses down on his back, intensifying Jack’s fear. “You are going to suffer at it’s hands now that you have chosen to fight me." 

Jack struggles, but Anti has an iron grip on him. His heart is pounding in his chest like a drum, telling him of his danger, warning him of his peril.

“ _Say goodbye_!”

Something strikes against the floor, causing its strength to deplete. Millions of shards, similar to glass pieces, sparkle and shine as the ground beneath his chest shatters. Everything around him slows. It was almost beautiful. Against the dark plane of the void, a rainbow of colors catch in the floor pieces, reflecting even as another bright flash echoes across the abyss. A heavy thunder rumbles throughout the air again, vibrating the crystals and emitting a low song. Jack feels suspended in the air with them, watching as they slowly rotate around, positioning themselves to swallow him.

Jack’s stomach gives out as he falls. It’s only perhaps half of a second in time, but it’s enough for him to know that this is his last living moment. He feels nothing beneath him. He feels nothing but fear and terror, knowing that he was about to meet his painful demise, and his life would continue under the control of a maniac, smearing his name and tainting the legacy he had worked so hard for throughout so many years. This was it.

_I’m sorry._

There’s two things he wasn’t expecting to endure during his descent down, and the first one was hearing Anti’s painful wail. Jack couldn’t open his eyes, he was too far gone, but he could definitely hear the other right beside him, crying out like a wounded animal, struck the killing blow.

The second thing he wasn’t expecting to happen was for a strong hand to wrap around his wrist and catch him.

He had only been falling for a moment, he was sure. But Anti’s voice grew quieter with each passing moment, and he could hear him grow faint as the other fell into death.

Death. Jack would join him soon.

But instead of going down, the hand holding his wrist beings to pull him up and over the lip of the floor’s breaking point. He hears a string of curses that sound like they should be familiar, but Jack feels too far away. Too dazed. After a moment, his body is leaned against something stable, and he feels two arms wrap around his torso and pull him flush against something warm. The heat only grows as another rumble of thunder shakes the Abyss, but through his eyelids, the dark shades turn brighter.

The empty floor doesn’t feel like cold glass any longer. It feels like kitchen tile. The burning in his throat returns full force, and Jack begins to choke, his hand reaching up to cradle the wound. 

He hears a far away voice talking to someone. He recognizes the sound. It’s warm and friendly, but it’s full of worry. Moments pass. He can feel the vibrations of the other speaking through his chest, and it’s lulling him to sleep. Eventually, the familiar voice addresses him. “Jack…” The arms holding him strengthen, and Jack finally dares to open his eyes. He’s no longer sitting alone in the Abyss. He’s laying on the floor of Mark’s kitchen, wrapped up in his friend’s embrace with his head buried in his shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I called an ambulance. You’re gonna be okay.”

“Mark?” He tries to say, but it comes out scratchy. He isn’t sure how he made it this long functioning with his throat wound, but now, it had returned in an agonizing force. “An-Anti?” He forces out, his hand tightening on Mark’s sweatshirt to ground his dizzy head. 

“He’s gone. Anti’s gone.” He can hear Mark sniffle. He pulls him closer. “When the ground broke. He tried to get out of the way, but, but he fell through and I grabbed you. He’s gone. _He’s gone_.”

There’s an odd relief that washes over him, but he doesn’t allow himself to completely relax yet. There had to be a catch, right? “Dark?" 

“I got him before I reached you.”

Jack shivers, curling in on himself for warmth. That was it? It was over? “’Saved me.” He chokes out.

“Me?” Mark lets out a chuckle. Jack makes a noise of confusion. “Jack, you were the one who fought them. You were the one that got control back. You saved _me_.” He says, pressing his face into Jack’s fluffy green hair. “I thought we were goners.”

“Me too.” Jack says, coughing and struggling to breathe.

“I think we found the secret to breaking the loop.”

Jack laughs. It hurts. “I think so.”

Mark says something else to him, but Jack can’t hear him, because the next thing he knows, the world goes black.

He dreams of nothing.


	14. Wake Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, at the end. I apologize for the long wait, but as it is, this chapter really got away from me. It ended up triple the normal chapter length, and I didn't forsee that happening at all.
> 
> I was also a little afraid to post this. I almost didn't. I had this fear that it wouldn't live up to the climax that I had hyped up, and that it wouldn't leave you satisfied. But thanks to the support of my beta- I worked up the courage to post it.
> 
> So thank you guys for following this story, and I'm glad you could join me on this adventure.
> 
> And without further ado... Wake Up.

This time, he dreams of nothing. He feels no pain, no worry, no fear. There’s no presence in his head, no danger lurking at the back of his mind. He’s completely and utterly free. 

He dreams of Signe. Her warm embrace, her loving kisses. She would be waiting for him at home. Nothing threatens him. Nothing tries to pry them apart. He has no idea what he would tell her once he saw her again, but for now, all he could do was be thankful that he was free.

When reality comes knocking at his consciousness again, he’s laying in a hospital bed in America. Blinking several times, he squints against the light of the room and winces, wishing he could pull the covers up over his head and block them out, but his limbs feel too sore. They refuse to move for a moment, and a rush of panic catches him off guard. But when he tries again, they obey. His movements are sluggish, but he realizes it wasn’t because a demon was fighting for control. It was because he was completely exhausted.

He feels oddly clean. His neck wound, which had felt like a growing fire for what seemed like days, had now subsided. There was a bandage of some kind over the cut. When he turns his head he could feel it strain against his skin, and as he did so, his eyes landed on another presence in the room.

Mark.

He was sitting in a chair with his head propped up on his palm, dead to the world in his snoring. 

Jack only stares. He doesn’t know if he has it in him to speak audibly. There’s a small pang of jealousy that Mark had managed to come out of this unscathed physically, as the rewind had brought them just to the moment Anti cut him, and not when Mark had been stabbed. But there’s another part of him that’s thankful, because it meant he did something right to help. Perhaps this was his payment for wanting to give up so easily.

“Mark.” He tries to say, but it barely works. Nothing comes out of his throat but a croaky whisper. He manages a low groan, trying to get his attention, but he’s too quiet. He can’t do it.

So he just watches him sleep in the corner. There’s a peace that settles over him, interrupted only by the heart monitor in the room, but it’s steady and constant. He lets his mind wander, lost in thought, and he spends what feels like hours just drifting. It’s calming. Relaxing.

Eventually, his friend stirs. Jack turns his head to him, blinking patiently while he sits up, stretching out his neck and arms. When his gaze turns to the bed, he immediately freezes, offering a small smile. “Hey there.” He says hesitantly, leaning against the arm rest. “How long you been watching me sleep?”

Unable to summon the energy to speak, he shrugs.

“How’s the throat?”

Another shrug. 

“Can you talk?”

“Hurts to.” He tries to say. Jack frowns, putting a hand up to the bandage. He wonders if Mark even understood him.

His friend stands up and walks over, his hands in his pockets. He looks like he’s trying to be nonchalant, but Jack can tell that he’s feeling tense. “I told the doctors you fell on the knife in my kitchen. It was… pretty bad.” He says, looking down. “I wish I could tell you exactly what was cut but I’m not family, so they can’t talk to me. All that matters is that they said you should make a full recovery, and that it’ll take time. But you have stitches, and it’s gonna scar.”

Jack makes a face of frustration. _Great._ But it didn’t beat the overwhelming sense of relief that he was _alive._ And that was worth whatever he’d walk out with.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry.” Mark says suddenly, looking sullen. “I wish I could have done more.”

Jack shakes his head, immediately shutting the other down. “No.” He whispers, fighting to speak audibly. “You’re the… only reason I kept…” He tries to clear his throat, but it sends a burn up his jawline.

But Mark seems to understand. He runs a hand through his hair and tries to offer the Irishman a weak smile, exhaling through his nose. “Thank you.”

Jack closes his eyes for a moment to center himself. Too much had happened, too much chaos, and he was looking forward to the peace of the moment. Eventually, he pries open his eyes to the light once more, watching Mark. His eyes are on the floor.

“What time…?” Jack tries to ask. 

Mark pulls his hand out of his pocket and checks his watch, a small smirk on his face. “8:13 AM. January Thirteenth.” He holds his head up high and smiles confidently, a sparkle in his eye. “It’s the next day. We made it.”

 _We made it._ Jack never thought he would live to hear those words.

Mark sits back down, and he puts his head back against his hand, massaging his temple. The room is quiet and the white walls are glowing, and Jack wishes the lights were off. He can hear the distant chatter of hospital personnel wandering the halls outside, and he wonders why no one has come in yet. Maybe he should get Mark to find someone, or press a button or something.

Another distracted part of him is dreading what he’s going to have to tell Signe, but he doesn’t get a chance to wonder for too long, because something feels off. 

He looks at Mark again.

His friend’s eyes are closed. He’s massaging his temples and furrowing his eyebrows, looking like he’s in pain.

“Okay?” He croaks. 

Mark offers him an assuring smile and nods. “Headache.”

Jack nods, feeling fatigue begin to nip at his chest. He moves on. “Signe?” He dares to ask.

Now that makes Mark uncomfortable. “Um… Yeah, she… she called me. Apparently she’d been trying to track you down for a while now.”

Jack makes an expecting face, urging him to go on.

“I… I told her you were here. In America. She’s pretty pissed at you right now, so ah, I’ll let you handle it. I told her you were in the hospital, and about the knife wound. All you really have to do is come up with a good reason for being here I guess. I’ll help with whatever excuse you come up with.”

Jack’s heart sinks, his chest thundering. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Mark pats him on the shoulder, offering a sympathetic smile. “Good luck with that one buddy.”

Another silence. Jack doesn’t mind, and he supposes Mark doesn’t either. Eventually, he gathers as much strength as he can to whisper, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Tears well up in his eyes when he says it, and suddenly everything comes crashing down against him. He had been fighting for so long. He almost _died._ His limbs begin to shake and he bites his bottom lip, looking away.

But he can just see Mark offer him a small, sad smile out of the corner of his eye. “I’m glad you’re okay too.” He says, and Jack feels safe.

It really was over. 

Eventually, hospital personnel circulate in and out of his room to tend to him and inform him of his condition. Apparently he’d been very lucky to have survived as long as he did after the cut, and he was very fortunate that the ambulance showed up as fast as it did. Part of him wonders how he had survived so long in the first place after getting sliced in the throat. He figures it had to be something about Anti. Something about his presence kept the life going despite the life-threatening wound, just as Dark had survived in Mark’s body with a stab wound to the chest.

It was all very unusual, and Jack doesn’t even attempt trying to decipher it.

Eventually, he does get around to talking to Signe. And by talking, he means texting. He sends her a long wall of text, trying to give her a good excuse while assuring her that he loves her and didn’t want her to be hurt, but she had barely gotten through half of it before she calls him in her panic. She had been a wreck after hearing about everything, and Jack desperately wishes he could offer her a better answer than these lame excuses in a wounded voice.

Mending this situation would come with time.

Jack sure hoped that was true.

He had, of course, informed his audience of his condition as well. He decided going along with Mark’s excuse was the best idea, _“I was holding a knife and tripped onto it, I’m a complete klutz, haha.”_ and had tried to keep them updated every once in a while on social media.

He had several visitors from his friends who lived in California, and just being around them had lifted his spirits a lot. Going back to friendly jokes and shenanigans had been the best medicine after dealing with so many repeats. Part of him wishes he could tell them all that happened, and share with them the stories, but he knew it would be useless.

At least he could talk to Mark. 

However, as time went on, Mark visited him less and less. And whenever he did, he was spaced out, not really saying much, and tended to come only in groups. But Jack wanted to talk to him alone, because he was the only one that understood the experience they endured. So desperately did he want to confide in him, but at one point, it seemed as though he were avoiding him. And it stung.

Sleep didn’t come easily for the days he stayed overnight at the hospital. Often times, he’d find himself waking up from nightmares, reaching for Signe’s form and finding nothing but white sheets. The peace he had felt seemed to subside each day, replaced with a little more fear and trauma from the whole ordeal. 

 _I want to go home._  

It takes some time for him to physically heal, but eventually he’s allowed to fly back. He makes a video when his voice begins to return, telling his fans the good news with excitement and relief, and prepares to take the next flight out of California. Mark seems to be the only one available to drive him to the airport, and Jack hopes this is the opportunity he has to talk to him before he leaves. It would make him feel so much better to talk out what each of them had been dealing with.

He has his hood up when he gets into Mark’s car, hoping not to get recognized by fans. He just didn’t have the mental energy for it. His friend settles into the driver’s seat and engages in small talk, pulling out of the hospital with Jack leaning his head against the window.

“How many days did we go through the repeat?” Jack asks.

Maybe that was too forward. It doesn’t matter, though. It shouldn’t matter, because the two of them had been through too much to just beat around the bush, and Jack fights the frustration eating at his chest.

Mark scrunches his lips in thought. “Eight days.” He finally says, and Jack immediately relaxes at the acknowledgement. Maybe he wasn’t giving him the silent treatment after all.

Jack lets out a breathless laugh, looking over at him. “Been quite an adventure, huh?” He says, hoping to spark conversation.

His friend hums in response. Jack watches him for a moment, and Mark glances at him out of the corner of his eye, catching his stare. “What?” He asks.

“I dunno, I just feel like you don’t want to talk about the repeats.” Jack says quietly.

Mark’s expression turns defensive. “Well, why would I? I don’t want to think about an experience that nearly got us killed.” He says in a snappy voice, causing the other to jump. Jack stares, eyebrows raised in question.

There’s a silence that follows. Jack knows for a fact that this was unusual. There are warning flags and sirens blaring in his head, and he can only stare at the other in pure surprise. To anyone unaware of their situation, they may have figured the other was just in a bad mood. But Jack knew what he was looking for.

The next words that tumble out of his mouth surprise even himself.

“You’re not Mark, are you?”

Frankly, Jack wasn’t even sure if the words were actually articulated. They sounded more like a weird sound, scratchy and dull from the wound and his own nerves. But somehow, _somehow_ , he understood him. Mark stares for a moment, and then offers a chuckle and a smile, leaning forward in the driver’s seat. “’Course it’s me.”

“Prove it.”

Jack’s eyes stare dead cold. Mark’s gaze switches between him and the road, eyes widening a little bit at the hostility, but Jack doesn’t allow that to waver his suspicion. When the silence hangs in the air for a moment, Jack narrows his eyes.

“What do you want me to say?” Mark finally says. “I helped save you. Dark would have killed you.”

“What’s my first video?”

“Your first YouTube video?”

He nods.

Jack waits, but it doesn’t take long for Mark to answer. When he does, he feels every hair on the back of his neck stand up in alarm.

“Wasn’t it like, Amnesia or something?”

Another silence. Jack’s heart picks up, pounding against his head with so much ferocity he begins to see red. “Why do you expect me to know your first video?” The other continues, smiling and pulling his shoulders up in a lighthearted shrug. “I don’t remember. Give me something I would know the answer to.”

Jack can’t breathe. Everything is slowing down around him and he feels like he’s back in the darkness, sinking into death. He had been foolish to think this was over.

Part of him wishes he had the will power to tell him why he was wrong. To let him know that he wasn’t going to fool the Irishman, and that Mark would remember that his first video was a Solid Snake voice impression. When his friend had discovered this, Mark had laughed giddily, excited about it. Every once in a while would reference it in lighthearted teasing. There’s no way he would have forgotten.

The prolonged silence only caused Jack’s heart to beat faster, and Mark looked as though he were trying to figure out Jack’s question. “What, is it a trick question? What’s the answer?”

“You’re not Mark.”

The only sound he hears is the rumble of the car.

There's a beat of hesitation where Jack wonders if he's wrong. If his friend really had forgotten, and that he was patronizing him for no reason. He doesn't get a chance to linger in this fear long, however, because not a moment later Mark’s eyes swim black and he straightens his posture, hands tightening around the wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white.

“ _Fine_.”

Dark tilts his chin in a mannerism that definitely wasn’t Mark’s, and he settles his gaze straight forward without looking at the other. It’s almost robotic, but the shadows of his eyes flicker with an emotion Jack can’t detect. Frustration? “And I suppose with this, you expect to tell me that you know just how to stop me.” 

Jack’s jaw tenses.

“Listen closely.” Dark says, slowly, and Jack presses his lips together to keep his shallow breaths from becoming too apparent. His eyes were locked on the person in the driver’s seat, and he couldn’t look away, but the others’ eyes were glued to the road. Mark seems twenty times taller in Dark’s posture, and he’s towering over the steering wheel, his gaze dead, yet so full of life.

“The way I see it, you have three options.” Jack can almost see a red glow around his figure, but perhaps it’s a trick of the light. He feels his chest tighten.

“The first one: you cause a scene. You make a mess. You try to do something to earn another reset. And as a result, you will be dealt the hand you play. Nothing you do will drive me to reset; I will simply let the authorities take you away for whatever idiotic scenario you enact. You will not be able to do anything to me, it will be your actions and your consequences. I will brush you off my shoulder, and the world goes on. 

“Your second option is to kill Mark’s body. This seems counterproductive. Let’s say you manage to beat me, and kill me. What will this accomplish, other than getting arrested and tried for murder against a man who has done no wrong?”

Jack says nothing. 

They stop at a red light. This is the moment that Dark finally takes to look at Jack, his eyes shadowy and terrifying. Jack isn’t even sure that he’s breathing anymore. His brain is in a slow process of his fight or flight response, still juggling the consequences and opportunities. But here, in the car, he was trapped. There was no way to escape this right now, and internally, his chest is about to burst from the pounding of his heart.

“Your final option,” The other says, “Is to get out of the car, board your plane, and forget you know what you know.”

There’s a thick air now, and Dark stares, unwavering, without a single ounce of hesitation or lack of confidence. He continues on, turning his eyes back to the road as the light turns green. “I am no threat to you. I am merely here to live on. To you and everyone else, you are playing games with your dear old friend. Your life is spared, and no one is bothered. This is not your business. You have been lucky enough to outlive your adversary. Anti perished, while you remain standing.” Even his name sends shivers down Jack’s arms. “I do not plan on making the same mistake.”

Silence.

There are a thousand things running through Jack’s head at the moment, and it sounds like radio static. His throat is on fire from the cut, but it’s nothing when compared to the fear drowning him within his own mind. Nothing felt real anymore. A very large part of him begged for the nightmare to end, and for him to wake up in his bed next to Signe, where everything would be okay.

But this was real. 

Jack sucks in a breath, feeling it quiver shakily as it travels down his throat. He swallows in gulps of air a few more times, attempting to control his breathing so he doesn’t give away his terror. The car merges onto the highway, and they pick up speed, matching the swift pounding of blood in his ears. 

“I’ll walk away.” 

Jack finally sputters these words, and they’re quiet and unsure. His voice works only due to the adrenaline coursing through him, but they still bring about a burning sensation. “…Only If you answer three questions.”

Dark’s expression doesn’t change. If he was surprised by the other’s answer, he makes no move to show it. “I make no promises.”

“What is the Abyss?” 

There’s a beat, perhaps as Dark attempts to word his answer, and it’s the most agonizing silence Jack has ever endured in his life. And then the demon speaks. “The Abyss is our birthplace and home. The place our species was created, and our place to roam.”

“…And the Abyss is collapsing?”

“Is that your second question?”

“Ah- no.” Jack coughs, his chest growing hot. “My second question is… why us? Why take over me and Mark?”

“Our species, when using our strength at its peak, can drive a man to insanity.” Dark begins, clearing his throat. “This insanity and loss of hope is the weakness we need to take control of them, and to clear out their soul and replace it with our own consciousness. Theoretically, we could have chosen anyone to possess. However, Anti was not the type to settle. He insisted we strive for the greatest. The most loved and adored.” He almost sneers, making Jack wonder how much he agreed with this plan. “Which, within our knowledge, you two were some of the most loved entertainers of your time. With the freedom to say whatever it is you like and have a majority of your audience stick with you through thick and thin. Politicians and celebrities were one thing, but to be people that a majority of people adored, Anti figured it was the perfect life.”

Jack takes a minute to let this sink in. The vibration and rumble of the car lulls him into thought, but he doesn’t allow his heart to relax. Not with Dark sitting mere inches away from him, sending shivers down his spine with every intake of breath. Jack knows full well that the figure next to him was not human. He was merely wearing one’s skin. Yet he could clearly see the other’s chest rise and fall with his breathing. 

“Did you have a third question? The airport is close.” Dark says, his voice still suave and cool, as though he were holding all the cards.

“Yes.” Jack says, but falls silent once more. This question was what he had been wondering most of all; the question that had been burning in the back of his head without restraint. He swallows in a breath, holding it for a few seconds, before shakily releasing it.

“Is Mark still in there?”

There’s silence again. Jack hates it. And suddenly, he’s terrified that Dark isn’t going to give him an honest answer. So he quickly adds, with a low, hesitant voice, “I just want to say goodbye.”

Dark smiles. “Yes. But he won’t be for much longer.”

 _Mark_.

Jack sucks in another breath of air, his hands shaking, and fights the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Mark…” He says, quietly, unsure of how to say what he wants to say. He’s listening. _Mark is listening._

He tries again, his voice scratchy. He gulps, fighting the pounding in his head, bracing himself.

“ _Fight him,_ Mark!”

Jack launches himself towards the demon’s side of the car, grabbing the car wheel and yanking down as hard as he can. Catching the other by surprise, it doesn’t take much effort to spin the tires, and immediately the car careens sideways. He hears Dark cry out, but it’s not due to pain, it’s due to pure anger. He tries to grab at Jack, and just manages to curl his fingers into his fluffy green hair, yanking him backwards. A startled yelp escapes his throat and he cries out, fishing to keep pulling on the wheel.

The first impact was the heaviest. Immediately, gravity reverses, throwing the both of them to the right. The car that had hit them hadn’t even had time to hit the brakes, and as a result, the world begins to spin. Their car flips over and over, flying through the air. The sound of glass fills Jack’s ears and he can feel piercing pain all throughout his limbs and he screams, fearing for the sake of his life. It seemed as though he would never escape the threat of death, no matter where he went. It would haunt him forever.

A forest-y green color fills his vision. Jack’s brain tells him they had tumbled into a ditch, flipping through the grass several times before crashing against a tree and falling still. The world goes black.

But not for long.

When Jack opens his eyes, he’s numb.

He feels nothing, but he sees _everything_.

His head is resting against the deflated airbag on the dashboard, and when he lifts his arm, he sees blood seeping down his hand and wrist. His body is sluggish and scarcely responsive, only allowing dull movements and shifts in his position. The very moment he tries to sit up, pins and needles spread through his skin and he seethes through his bared teeth. There are glass shards embedded in his skin, and he feels a small sting, but he must be in shock, because otherwise, he feels nothing.

A cough erupts to his left and he tries to sit up and turn his head, but whiplash leaves him drained. The colors in his eyes double and spin, and nausea builds up in his stomach. When he finally manages to turn his gaze to the figure next to him, he sees Mark with his eyes wide open, trembling violently, with his hands held up in front of him as though his gaze was transfixed at the blood coating his fingertips. There’s burned crimson liquid running down his face and arms, and when he spits, blood seeps down his chin, bubbling at his teeth.

“ _Mark_.” Jack tries to say, his heart thundering from horror.

“ _Jack_.” Mark spits out, blood staining his white teeth red. Jack feels a shiver grip his heart hearing Mark, _Mark, it’s Mark_ , but just as soon as the word leaves his friend’s lips, his eyes flicker, and he hears Dark’s voice fight through once more. “ _No!"_  

Dark’s jaw goes slack for a moment and he gasps for air, trying to curl his fingers into fists. His muscles are tense, his hair falling over his face to mix with the blood. Jack still feels nothing but cold shock, causing his body to shiver uncontrollably. The violent wracking of his skin sends him into a dizzy spell, but he can’t take his eyes off of his friend.

“Fight him, Mark. Come on. You can do it.” Jack gasps out, feeling his throat begin to burn again. He can’t feel his arm. “Come on, _come on_.”

His friend spits blood again, but it’s still Dark that’s in control. “What have you _done!”_ He snarls out, squeezing his eyes shut to internalize the pain. A string of pained curses leave his lips, and Jack is fighting the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He hears voices outside of the car, presumably pedestrians coming to help, and his heart begins to sink further.

“ _Mark_.” Jack tries to say, “ _Please_.”

Dark coughs on blood, and Jack feels himself grow faint with terror.

It has to work. 

 _It has to work_.

And then another thought fills Jack's mind that grips him with unadultured terror. _I'm going to lose Mark. He's going to die. I killed him._

“ _Jack_!” He hears Mark scream.

And then the world changes.

The colors are different, the phantom pain in his arm dissipates, and he’s no longer bleeding out against the dashboard. And he can almost pick out where he had ended up; where the time jump had landed him. 

But then the world changes again. 

And again.

And everything around him is a whirlwind of color, shifting in and out as though he were watching a dream in rewind. A million thoughts come to mind, and a million words beg to release from his lips, but nothing registers completely. It’s fleeting, like a dying memory, lost in the end of the world. Everything is chaos and Jack is drowning in it, scrambling for purchase with nothing to steady his fall.

Too much, too much, _too much_! 

_Help me!_

And then everything goes black.

All Jack feels is peace.

Peace. 

Quiet.

Silence. 

After a moment, he dares to open his eyes, afraid of what he may see.

It’s to complete and utter darkness.

Jack is in the Abyss once more. 

If the atmosphere felt broken and dangerous once before, it felt as though it were made of shards now. There’s a wind that had picked up, causing the floor beneath his feet to shutter and shift as though at any moment it would give way.

Several yards ahead of him, a shadowy figure is kneeled on the ground, panting for breath. There’s a faint red outline against him that shifts back and forth, and he looks broken.

And to the left of him, Mark is lying on his side, his hand grasping at his chest. His eyes are closed, and his mouth is tensed with his teeth bared as though he were in pain. 

“Mark!” Jack cries out, running to him. He drops to his knees, placing a hand on Mark’s shoulder and attempts to get his attention. Mark seems dazed, his eyes staring off in an unforeseen direction, but Jack slips an arm under his, attempting to help him up.

“ _You_ …” A voice cuts in, and Jack looks up just in time to see a rush of energy blast him in the face. He stumbles backwards, reeling in shock, and rolls against the ground. He’s blinded with pain, scrambling to steady himself.

This shadowy figure, presumably Dark’s original form, says nothing when Jack looks up at him. He swings his arm backwards and attacks with another burst of darkness, sending a fire through Jack’s veins. His lungs almost burst with his screaming, and he felt as though he were being set on fire from the inside out. His fingers claw at his skin, swatting at invisible flames, and his eyes are clenched shut in agony.

His own screaming is the only sound that fills his ears.

When it stops, Jack gasps for air, clutching at his chest and turning onto his hands and knees to heave. The wind in the Abyss picks up, and the floor shifts again, sending sharp pins through the palm of his hand. He isn’t sure how he knows it, but it feels like this place is seconds away from withering into nothing.

“ _I will not die here_!” He screams out, and Jack pries his eyes open to look at the shadow above him. “Not when life is within my grasp!” 

Another burst. The fire feels like ice, stabbing his lungs and drawing out painful gasps for air, rendering Jack’s consciousness to mere putty. He isn’t sure if he’s even alive anymore, or if he’s lost in a sea of death for all of eternity. 

It stops again, and Jack can’t muster up the energy to hold himself up anymore. He coughs against the broken floor, but it feels like it’s turning into dust beneath his skin. 

There’s a cry behind him, and it sounds so distinctly Mark-like that it snaps Jack out of his dazed mind, but his soul still cries out in pain. The fire stops within him, and the attacks cease, leaving him a moment to collect himself and heal.

Sounds of struggle echo in this chasm of death, and Jack gulps in air as though he would never taste it again. He finally forces his shaking limbs to pull himself up, turning his head. His hair falls in his eyes- an odd detail his mind clutches to.

Dark has Mark pinned against the broken floor several yards away, and its spider-webbing beneath them. 

This seems familiar. 

Jack pulls himself to his feet, feeling pain coursing through his veins. He races to the fighting figures, watching as the ground shifts and begins to crumble beneath the two of them, teasing the nearness of death. Mark’s scream of desperation sends shivers down Jack’s spine, and for a mere second, Jack fears he won’t make it in time. 

The ground breaks.

It breaks beneath Jack’s feet.

A scream escapes the back of his throat and his hands fish outwards, a blind reach for safety, and his hand catches something solid. He dangles for a moment, unbelievably afraid, and attempts to pull himself back up. 

“ _Help!_ ” He hears Mark cry, and Jack sucks in a breath, tears staining his face. He’s not going to make it. “ _Please!_ ”

He kicks, he struggles, and he fights to pull himself up, but Jack has never been an athletic type. He reaches up to fold and elbow over the lip, attempting to get his body up. After a few tries, he does it, adrenaline warning him of the ticking timer in the back of his head. He needed to reach Mark, and he’s running out of time.

The ground shudders, and he fears for the worst, bracing himself to fall again, but nothing comes. He runs.

Each time his foot leaves the ground, the floor beneath it shatters into pieces. Each stride sends panic into his mind, and every slap of his foot against the unstable Abyss floor makes him think he’s going to fall through. No step is safe. He could only hold his luck for so long, after all. 

He sees the ground make one more shift beneath the other two souls before Mark and Dark begin to fall.

“ _No_!” 

Jack _leaps._ He slides forward, unsure of what piece of flooring would hold him any longer, and takes a chance. His eyes are trained on Mark’s falling form, and just like the time his friend saved him, time slows down as Jack’s fingers wrap around Mark’s wrist. He feels heavy solid beneath him as he slides onto his shoulder, attempting to pull Mark with his momentum. For the most part, it works, and he manages to haul Mark’s upper half over the edge of the break.

The ground rumbles. Dark makes no sound as he falls to his death, taking his pride with him.

Jack pulls on Mark’s arms, trying to pull him to safety. The solid base beneath him feels as though it’s weakening by the second, and as soon as Mark gains his awareness and attempts to climb up, they crawl backwards to get away from the lip, listening as the pieces break like glass. The sounds are endless and repeating all around them, glistening with different colors against the bright flashes of light. 

A large burst of thunder echoes throughout the Abyss. Everything is collapsing. 

As soon as they back up to a safer standing ground, Jack throws his arms around Mark’s neck and weeps. Pain and shock floods his limbs and he releases his terror, gripping his back in a vice. Dazed, his friend takes a second to respond, wrapping his arms around the Irishman to share in the shock. Jack feels his friend shudder beneath his embrace, and then he too sucks in a few shaky breaths, leading to a quake behind his shoulders.

“Jack.” Mark gasps out, and just hearing his voice sends relief through Jack’s chest. The atmosphere thunders again, but it’s okay. It’s okay.

 

“Mark.” Jack responds, a shaky laugh escaping him. “You’re okay, _you’re okay_.”

They’re both on the floor of darkness, surrounded by death on all sides, and a flashing thunderous cry of energy pounds against the edges of the chasm. His friend tightens his grip, and both of them shake violently. “I want to say it’s over so badly.” Jack says, his voice a mere breath. “But I don’t want to jinx it." 

They pant for breath, trying to settle their nerves. Neither of them speak. Neither of them can say a word.

“Are we okay?” Jack dares to ask.

“We’re okay.” Mark breathes.

 _We’re okay_.

Jack closes his eyes, pressing his face into his friend’s shoulder to ground himself. All he feels is the shaking body of his friend in his embrace and the cold arms of the Abyss, slowly falling to pieces all around him in a cascade of dark color. The sounds around him grow faint after a moment, descending into a silence that Jack somehow finds comforting. He isn’t sure how, but a warmness spreads over him, and all fear settles gently within the pit of his stomach.

Peace. 

When the warmth of his friend disappears, he doesn’t panic. He doesn’t fear. Because the next thing he feels is so familiar, and it brings a warmth so rich to his chest he might cry.

He feels a soft brush of lips against his cheek.

“Hey Sean.” Signe whispers softly into his ear, leaning over him. “I’m leaving for the event. I’ll see you later tonight, babe.”

Jack doesn’t open his eyes, but he does smile, comforted in the health of his body, and the safety of his home. And he knows that somewhere across the world, somewhere far away, Mark was safe too.

 _We’re okay_.


End file.
